Echoes
by EmaniaHilel
Summary: Vignettes - Another series, but this is a little different. I KNOW these aren't going to have anything to do with one another. Based on 30 themes from a livejournal challenge community. The unifying theme is memories. Theme 23: I'll Remember You.
1. Introduction

Greetings! If you're reading this, you've been lured by the ever powerful, 'Author Alert' to tell you I've written a new story. That is _somewhat _true.

What I'm actually doing is conducting a bit of an experiment.

Now, before you ask, the two questions you're probably wondering about the most: (unless you saw it on the story profile...)

1. Fandom: Teen Titan

2. Pairing/Ship: Robin/Raven

And yes, you'll have something to read once you click that forward arrow, and for (at least) the next four weeks, you'll have something to read from me posted to this 'story'. If you're not interested at all in why or how this came about, then just go ahead and click now. I'll wait.

Go on.

Still with me? Okay.

So this is what happened.

During one of my 'challenge seeking' forays into the challenge communities on livejournal, I found a challenge community whose main focus was "memories". I was intrigued by the prompts they gave, so I did what I normally do: I copied/pasted the list and from whence it came onto a word document for further perusal. You see, when I'm in the mood to write something and don't know exactly what, I glance over these lists and see if anything strikes my fancy.

And one night, I was looking at the memories list and I started writing.

What came out wasn't exactly like anything I'd written previously for these two. I know it's different, but I can't exactly explain _how _or why I feel it's different. So, they're different. I wasn't sure they were good. (I still am not) But I couldn't seem to stop. I wrote through the first four themes before I came back to my senses. Some of them don't have any sort of resolution (and I doubt they ever will), some of them don't exactly fit into the canon TT universe that I normally write in (although they're not strictly AU), and to be perfectly frank, I don't think they make very much sense. I just started writing what came to my head and stopped when I didn't have anything else to write.

I think Puck was dabbling with the darker magicks for this. They're not exactly dark, per se, but they're not my usual fare and I don't exactly know how else to say it. Maybe Puck just had a bad batch of Pixie Dust or something...

Anyway, I didn't officially request the pairing form the livejournal community and I don't exactly think I'm going to. I didn't want to request it for two reasons: One, what I get from challenge communities is actually in the writing to a prompt, because frankly, the readers or subscribers to that community never read or comment to what I post to them anyway, so it's not like I get feedback from them.

They're not very long. (And yet, some _might _be). But...here you go. I made it a point to not question what came out or try to make any of them relate to one another. I dunno how far I'm going to go. It's a list of 30 themes with a few bonus themes. (I'll post the list further on down.)

If you're brave enough, hit the forward arrow...

If you're curious, read the list, THEN hit the forward arrow...

If you're not interested at all...eh...see you next "Moment". ((shrug))

* * *

**30 Memories**

**_1. Ten Years Ago..._**

**_2. Rings_**

**_3. Omamori_**

**_4. Lost_**

_**5. Do you remember...**_

_**6. Annivesary**_

_**7. I promise I'll be back...**_

_**8. Sunset**_

_**9. Figuring**_

**_10. I'll miss you_**

11. Wait for me...

**_12. Is it you?_**

_**13. Wonderland**_

**_14. Chimes_**

_**15. Slient Night**_

**_16. Video Clips_**

**_17. Revenge_**

**_18. Tears_**

**_19. Please forget about me..._**

20. Diary

21. Bizzare

22. Last meal

23. Pink Carnation (I'll never forget you)

24. Rosemary; Remembrance

25. Zinnia; Thoughts of friends

26. Yellow Tulip; Hopeless Love

27. Love you for a life time

28. Black Rose; Death

29. Sky blue

30. Memories

**

* * *

**

**Bonus**

31. Water Lily; Purity

32. Quince; Temptation

33. Rhododendrun; Danger

34. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

35. Eternity


	2. 01: Ten Years Ago

**A/N: **I know that I'm completely messing with the Titan timeline and their true history. I embrace that. Think of it as creative license. Also, this one is a 'future fic'. An idea of what might be come, oh, 6 years post the end of the series. C'mon, folks, embrace the possible alternate beginning of our favorite Titans with me!

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. No money made, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...

**_Echoes  
by Em_**

_"I don't regret the choices that I've made / I know you feel the same"  
- _Beloved, VNV Nation

_**Endings and Beginnings  
**__**(01: Ten Years Ago...)  
**_

It was nearly impossible for her to believe that so much time had lapsed in what had seemed to her to be the blink of an eye. At 23, she didn't feel particularly old and she certainly didn't feel the world weary sophistication that having lived through all of the experiences she lived through should have provided her.

It had come too quickly, this moment in time. She wasn't prepared for it. If she had more time, she thought, perhaps she could have better prepared herself mentally.

_'What would you have done?'_ the voice inside asked sarcastically, _'Written a script?'_

She shook her head, knowing Knowledge was right. There was no way to prepare for such a moment. And yet, she could not help the feeling that she was no more grown now on this sunny August morning than she had been ten years ago. And that, ultimately, was what scared her motionless not half a block away.

She was torn in two by that fear, torn between her loyalty to keeping old promises and the fear making her stay locked where she was.

Ten years ago, she had been nothing but a scared orphan in a strange land with no control, no way to defend herself or her pride and certainly no thought of how to go about the mission that had been charged to her. She had been alone and lonely, but too used to the feeling to recognize it's presence.

She remembered only feeling dwarfed by the size of the palace to which she was brought, the despair in her heart which she had clumsily tried to mask. She had been a child then, young and scared and shivering inside her cold outer shell.

One man had taken pity on her then...

_He found her in the street outside the door she had been ushered out of, looking about her aimlessly. "Where will you go now?" She raised her clear amethyst eyes to stare into his hard, but earnest face and had no answer for him._

And while that pity had not extended to an offer of help for her cause, he had offered her a roof over her head...

"_You can stay here for a few days," he told her and there was a soothing familiarity to the brusqueness of his tone, the no-nonsense pace of his gait as he led her into the enormous castle-like mansion. "at least while you get your bearings and decide on your next course of action." And even though inside, she had wanted to thank him, the words of gratitude forming on her tongue, her mouth did not open to release them and her only response was a crisp, unemotional nod of her tiny head. _

He never once asked why she wasn't speaking. She hadn't spoken since the moment her request for help had been rebuked with the harsh reminder of who she was and what she was meant to bring about. After all, she had understood that if her earnest plea had found no welcome, no other words she could offer would either.

For days, she roamed the lonely halls of the manor house while she wondered what to do and where to go. Then, she had felt she had no options left. If the world's finest super heroes refused to help her, where else _could_ she go? She had no hope, no options, the choices left to her to make only one of where to go to nurse her strength long enough to return and fight alone.

That was, until _he_ found her.

"_Well...who might you be?" he asked, what would become his trademark half-smirk already formed on his lips. She hadn't an answer for him either, but he didn't seem deterred by her blank expression. He cocked his head to the side when she failed to answer and the half-smirk turned into an honest smile, "I'm Richard, but everyone calls me Dick."_ _And although the words of introduction formed in her mind just as responses to any questions she was asked formed in her mind, something strange happened that even she didn't expect. _

"_Raven," she spoke, her voice monotonous and betraying none of the surprise she felt at having spoken at all. _

_He lifted his head and leaned back against the wall, "As in the bird?" he asked. She nodded, half wondering whether her mouth would decide to cooperate and speak again. He smiled and chuckled, but she wouldn't understand his source of amusement for quite some time. "No kidding...?" _

He hadn't been much older than she was when they met, but it would be days before she learned that he was actually a year older than she was. Somehow, The Batman had figured out that masks and secret identities were pointless as far as she was concerned and he had never bothered to hide his from her. She wouldn't learn until later how strange that actually was...

"_Bruce isn't much for taking in strays," Richard admitted casually. At the time, he hadn't known she had first met Bruce Wayne as his alter ego. He met her eyes and somehow managed to interpret the incredulous lines of her expression even though they were practically invisible to everyone else, "Present company excluded." She had turned her eyes away, but she could feel the weight of his glance still on her, could feel the way it changed from amused to considering. "Although I have a feeling you're not like most strays, are you?" _

_Raven had remained staring at the horizon, but her voice shattered the silence between them in one of her rare moments of speech, "No," she answered, her voice soft and unemotional, "I am not." _

A few days turned into weeks and it hadn't been until a month had passed that Raven knew she had taken advantage of Bruce's charity enough. She had promised him her silence and for some reason, he had believed her. Richard stopped her before she could leave, however.

"_Where will you go from here?" he asked her, unconsciously mirroring his mentor's question._

_Unlike with his mentor, Raven answered him, "I do not know."_

"_Well, maybe it'll help if you know why you're here...what you're looking for?" he offered._

_She lowered her head, "I will not find what I search for," she answered. _

"_What is it?" he pressed._

_She turned to look at him, "Help," she answered._

He somehow had coaxed a promise from her that she would give him one more day. She had no hope or any expectations, but he had been so kind to her, she could think of no way to refuse him one more day, so she had stayed and she had waited. She was not to know for years what had happened behind closed doors to eventually lead to the knock on her door the morning after her promise.

"_What are you doing?" Raven asked, taking in the appearance of the Boy Wonder under the door's threshold. _

"_I know where we're going," he answered simply. "It'll take us a few hours to get there."_

"_Us?" she asked. _

_He grinned at her and spread his arms wide, "Well, you did ask for help," he shrugged, "I hope I'm not a disappointment." _

_She thought that since she hadn't expected anyone to help her, he couldn't possibly be a disappointment. She also thought he was human and they would need a lot more than he could offer to defeat Trigon. "You do not even know why I need the help," she spoke seriously. _

"_I know enough," he answered. "And you'll tell me the rest as we go along," he added nonchalantly, motioning for her to leave the darkened confines of the room she had occupied for a month at Wayne Manor. "We should be going if we want to make Jump City by nightfall."_

"_Why Jump City?" she asked as she helped him gather a few supplies into the saddle bags of a motorcycle. _

"_There's someone there I want to meet," he answered, "His name's Victor Stone and I think he can help us."_

She had thought he was unwise and headstrong, but Bruce had silently blessed their departure and thus Robin and Raven, the two birds, began their association. Ten years ago.

Four years ago, that all ended.

And in the end, as in the beginning, only Raven and Robin were left, although both knew neither would stay.

"_Where will you go from here?" Robin asked, echoing a question from long ago. _

_And like both times the question had been asked before, Raven had no idea what to answer and like both times the question had been asked before, Raven responded in a completely unexpected way. This time, Raven smiled. "This is the second time you've asked me that question, Boy Wonder," she chided, even though she knew he no longer fit the childish nickname. _

_Robin had an excellent memory and as soon as she spoke the words, he remembered when the first time had been. "It seems I'm perpetually meant to ask you that in moments of greatest turmoil and change, aren't I?" he asked, kicking at the rocks under his booted feet. _

"_I suppose you are," she answered, suddenly as somber as he was. _

"_So...is the answer the same this time as it was then?" he pressed._

_She nodded, "I'm afraid so," she answered. "Except..." she trailed off and looked at him, smiling a little, "Except thanks to all of you, this time I have some idea, at least."_

"_And what is that?" he asked._

"_I think..." she paused, unsure of how the words would sound on her lips, "...that I wish to live a...normal life for a while." _

_He half sighed, half laughed, "That sounds nice," he admitted. _

"_I'd ask you to..." the words died on her lips at the look of sadness in his eyes and she shook her head, "But no..." she finished instead. "I won't." _

"_Someday..." he sighed. _

_She nodded and squinted at the approaching headlights. "Someday," she echoed, offering him one of her rare smiles, full of nothing but warmth. "I owe you more than I could ever repay, Richard," she spoke before hefting her bag onto her shoulder and walking to the waiting taxi. She didn't much like taxis, but she had figured that if she was to lead a normal life, she couldn't very well fly there. _

"_Raven!" he called and one hand on the door, she turned back to him. "Do you remember the day we met?" he asked. _

_She nodded. "August 16th," she answered without hesitation._

_He grinned. "Then on the ten year anniversary of our first meeting..." he swallowed, "...meet me at the Manor, no matter what happens..." he met her eyes, "Do you promise?" There was a moment when she obviously considered the depth of that promise. '...no matter what happens...' requires more than an off chance, and Raven never made promises lightly. Finally, silently, she nodded. "I'll be waiting." _

_Without another word, Raven entered the taxi and closed the door on her life as a Titan._

Ten years since that first meeting.

So much had happened and yet here she was, facing the imposing structure of the Manor at the end of the long drive and feeling as if she were no larger than the scarred and wounded girl of 13 she had been, with only the hard shell of her emotionless facade to keep it all inside.

She blinked, and her car was idling in front of the house itself. Driving in this state of mind couldn't be safe, she thought, and shut off the car with a resounding click in the stillness. Steeling her resolve, she emerged from the comforting and familiar confines of her two door coupe and adjusted the fall of the blouse over her skirt, smoothing the wrinkles the skirt had acquired during the long drive from Metropolis and combing fingers through longish purple locks she must have somehow mussed in her worrying during the drive.

She wasn't the child of 13 now, she was a woman. But she would've given anything for the false sense of protection her emotionless shield used to offer her in situations like these. But she had shed the shield her years as a Titan had already cracked and tarnished years ago and felt, for the first time in a very long time, exposed without it.

Before she knew it, she was at the imposing front door and before she had even managed to raise a hand to the doorbell, the door swung open on well-oiled hinges. The weathered, be-speckled, but kind face that greeted her on the other side was as welcome to her as the sudden all consuming fear wasn't.

"Good morning, Miss Raven," Alfred greeted warmly, motioning her inside, "Young Master Dick is expecting you."

And for the first time since she had realized the tenth anniversary of their first meeting was close at hand, Raven actually smiled. "I'm glad to hear it," she answered as she stepped beyond the threshold to her first real haven on Earth.

"You sound surprised," the deep and humored tones she could never mistake came from the shadows next to the stairs.

Raven easily found the brilliant blue of his eyes despite the shadows, "It's been a long time," was the only answer she offered. Whether she meant it as excuse for her doubting if he would keep his promise as she had kept hers or whether she meant it as a greeting, she herself didn't know.

Robin-- no, _Nightwing_, Richard, really, stepped toward her with the same lithe, casual grace he had always possessed, and his smile was the same cocky half smirk he had offered her on their first meeting all those years ago, "Between us?" he asked, stopping mere inches from her. He took her shoulders in his hands and shook his head, "Time is irrelevant."

She smiled and it made her seem no older than she had been the first time he saw her, "Funny you should say that, Richard," she said all her doubts gone just as they always had been whenever she looked into his eyes, "I had been thinking something just like that all the way here."


	3. 02: Rings

_**Echoes  
by Em** _

_"Take me to a place so holy / That I can wash this from my mind/The memory of choosing not to fight"  
- _Sarah Mclachlan, "Answer"

**A/N:** About #2 – again, here I am messing with the Titan mythology, specifically Raven's Azarath. The fact that Azar gave Raven rings is from the comic books, and if you look at pictures of Comic!Raven you will see her with rings, only I think they're gold.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_**Destinies  
(02: Rings)  
**_

She wore naught but two pieces of jewelry and both were rings.

Terra had once asked her about her rings and Raven had been vague as usual. She had told her nothing. Which, in retrospect, had been a good thing.

Malchior had asked her about the rings as well. From him, the query had seemed like a natural question, an act of possession and protectiveness. He had wanted to know everything about her then and like a fool, she had thought it was because of some reason other than that he was using every piece of information about her to better cajole and control her.

She had told _him _everything he wanted to know. Everything, but about the rings. For some reason, the details that resulted with her wearing the etched platinum circlets around each of her index fingers was a memory too frail to expose to even his scrutiny.

"You don't have to tell me."

The deep, expressive voice broke into her memories and brought her jarringly into the present. She blinked up at him as if he had suddenly appeared before her as if through magic, which she knew he hadn't.

Catching something unexpected in her eyes, fearing he had overstepped his bounds, he tried valiantly to backpeddle, "Nevermind, it's a stupid question anyway, forget I even asked..."

She could do just that, she knew. Of everyone else she had avoided telling the story to, he was the one person who would understand and not judge her silence.

From some place inside her she had rarely explored, the words came as if they had been waiting patiently there for someone to ask the right question: "These rings are all that is left of the Priestess Azar."

Her eyes were fixed on the worn, familiar grooves of the metal that never felt cold and grew warm and comforting during moments of greatest strife. She didn't have to look up at him to know he was waiting for her to continue, if she would continue. "They contain what's left of her essence."

"I've seen them glow," Robin's voice came soft and unobtrusive. His words finally brought her eyes up to meet his. "When you battle," he offered her a wry grin, "mostly when you're really pissed off or in trouble, they give off this warm glow and I've often wondered whether or not they burn you."

"They..." she hesitated. She had never tried to explain to anyone what the rings did for her mostly because she could not bear to think on it at all. "...aid me, help me focus and...protect me, as well." She lowered her gaze to the rings and the tip of her right finger traced the symbols on the left ring. "They never burn me."

"She must have been an amazing woman, this Azar," Robin voiced.

Raven nodded, "She was," she confirmed. There was silence for some time and she was loathe to continue on to the next part of the story, but now that she had started telling someone, she couldn't seem not to. "On Azarath these rings..." she spread her hands on the table before her and thought how strange it was that looking at her hands was like looking at the hands of a stranger. "...are the symbol of the High Priestess," she finished, no emotion whatsoever to her voice.

"She was training you to take her place?" Robin asked.

Raven exhaled, "It would appear so."

"Would you have accepted?"

Raven wasn't surprised that Robin had managed to hit right on target to what had always bothered her about the rings. "I don't know that I would've had a choice," she admitted.

"Because you would have been forced to take her place, you mean?" he assumed.

"Because I might've been killed before I could," she answered.


	4. 03: Omamori

**A/N:** Fer cryin' out loud! I tried to update this since Wednesday, but I couldn't because ff.n wasn't letting me upload! So, I uploaded it to 'emsscraps' and kept trying. Once again, I took what I know of the canon and played around with it.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own.

_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_For rarely are sons similar to their fathers: most are worse, and a few are better..."  
_- Homer, "The Odyssey"

_**Paths (03: Omamori)  
**__**Em**_

Every so often, Richard Grayson was expected home. Not his real home, that was Titan Tower and he never left that for more than a few days. No, he was expected home to Wayne Manor, to his adoptive father, his benefactor, and once mentor, Bruce Wayne.

He didn't like to go. Not because, like the tabloids had taken to reporting, he had any sort of serious falling out with Bruce, and not really because he always felt as if he were a scared and lost child once he was within it's walls instead of the self-reliant, independent man he knew he was. Rather, it was because sometimes, if his guard was down far enough, Richard fancied he could see what the future held for him within the cold stone and granite of Wayne Manor. That, to put it mildly, wasn't a good thing.

Not so mildly put, it scared the shit out of him.

Bruce Wayne, Richard had realized years ago, was the true costume his mentor wore. His whole existence was nothing but a mask, cold and devoid of real depth. Nothing about the billionaire's life was real except what he did and experienced as his alter-ego: the vigilante that stalked the scarred streets of Gotham.

Faced with this truth, Richard feared someday ending up just like him. It was why he allowed his teammates to have fun, it was why he played around with them, why he tempted them with junk food and movies, videogames, and pizza runs, why he tempted them with the chance to be people. The mask he wore protected him, but it wasn't him. He held fast to that assertion, but never so hard as when he visited Wayne Manor. He never wanted to party so hard and be a regular guy so badly as when he was faced with the cold emptiness of his mentor's fate.

One day, after one such visit, Raven found him on the roof, mask dangling from his fingers, blue eyes unfocused as they searched the night sky. He wasn't worried, Raven had seen his eyes many times before. What she had never seen before, however, was the look of searching in them, the doubt, the fear.

And with barely a word of prodding from her, he told her all of it. How his greatest fear was being so lost in Robin that he forgot what Richard's life should be like or even that he had a life. How already, it was sometimes difficult to remember where Robin, the vigilante of justice ended and Richard, the guy of 18 began. Of how he was afraid of losing his way and not realizing it until he was in the middle of a cold, empty, and lonely wasteland surrounded by darkness, left clutching only his mask and the tattered remains of a purpose he could no longer completely identify.

She had listened with patient silence, never interrupting, but prodding him to continue whenever he thought he was done by her rapt regard. And when he finally was done, she gently took the mask from his pliant grip and placed it to her own face, as if wondering whether or not it would fit.

"So, what do you think?" she had asked, looking at him through the mask, "Does it suit me?"

He remembered another time she had dressed up in full Robin costume and chuckled, despite himself. "You look very mysterious," he conceded.

She offered him a small smile, "But do I still look like Raven?" she asked.

He smiled, "You still looked like Raven even when you wore the full costume."

The reminder of that day still made her blush and she removed the mask, allowing her hair to fall forward and hide it for a moment, before raising her head to look at him. She handed it back to him, "I suppose," she said slowly, deceptively casual, "that's because in the end, it's just fabric."

If he expected her to say something else about the matter, he was disappointed, for she merely offered him the barest hint of a smile and walked away. He had, of course, understood exactly what she meant to say, and she knew he had. And if he expected her to bring up the subject again the next time he visited Wayne Manor, he was wrong about that too.

In true Raven fashion, what she did do, was a complete surprise.

He approached her as he walked to his motorcycle, on his way to Gotham and Wayne Manor for the night. "For me?" he asked, only barely glancing at the shape dangling from her fingers.

"Yes," Raven answered stoically, "Will you take it, or do I return it?" she asked bluntly.

Robin took the white cord from which the fabric amulet hung out of her outstretched hand and laid it flat against his palm. He looked up at her, a half smile on his lips, "An Omamori(1)?" he asked. Raven nodded. "I never would have guessed you the kind to believe in these good luck charms."

Raven's expression didn't change, "I don't believe that charms can bring you something you wish for, but I do believe that they can serve as reminders to help us find our path."

He looked back at the gold brocaded pentagon shaped amulet resting on his palm and read the Japanese kanji stitched in red thread. "Michihiraku?" he tried.(2)

She nodded, "It is a life compass, that is meant to aid you find the best path in life." She met his eyes then and he knew that every word he had spoken to her that day had not been as easily forgotten as he had initially thought. "I thought you might find it useful," she said simply, turning and walking away before he could say anything at all.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**Notes:**

(1) Defined as: "Japanese amulets dedicated to particular Shinto deities as well as Buddhist figures. The word omamori means "honorable protector" and they enclose papers or pieces of wood with prayers written on them, and are supposed to bring good luck to the bearer on particular occasions, tasks or ordeals. Omamori are also used to ward off bad luck and are often spotted on bags, in cars, etc. for safety in travel. Many omamori are specific in design to the location they were made.

They often describe on one side the specific area of luck or protection they are intended for and have the name of the originating shrine or temple on the other. Generic omamori exist, but most of them cover a single area: health, love, and studies, to name only a few." (by Wickepedia. You can find the full article here: http / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Omamori (remove spaces or just search out, "omamori"

(2) I based this on one I actually found online. I copied the picture and posted it onto my emsscraps livejournal. (I don't remember where online I found it, though.) Look for it on my emsscraps journal under **_"Echoes: Reference Picture -- Paths"_**

**Thanks:** Again, I'll be posting it onto my emsscraps livejournal, eventually, so go there if you asked a question or even if you just commented.

**Spoiler:** Next week's posting is theme 04: Lost. It's also the last one I have completed. (Well, theme 05 is completed, but I'm not too sure I like it and might change it if I can think of an alternate one.)


	5. 04: Lost

**A/N:** Whoa. I just...don't know...

**Thanks:** To be posted onto emsscraps. Otherwise, thank you to everyone for such a hearty welcome to this weird little bit of vignette writing-ness on my part.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_Did you know I was lost until you found me?"_  
- Garbage, Stroke of Luck

_**Lost (04: Lost)  
**__**Em**_

Sometimes, he thinks he's lost her.

Not to the darkness she had been so afraid would consume her throughout most of their adolescence, but to inanely regular things like books, chocolate, or coffee. She wasn't the kind of person to make shows of what pleased her, or what she craved. One learned about her preferences through careful and devoted observation.

It was in the little things that Raven found pleasure: A cup of rich, sweet smelling coffee after a particularly ugly night. The bitter tang of dark chocolate melting on the tongue late at night. The first scent of herbal tea as it eased knots of tension and calmed worries. The anticipation inherent in the turning of the first page of a new book.

He can see it in her eyes, the small ways he loses her to a new book or some expected or anticipated taste, it is in those little pleasures he catches the distance in her eyes, the way she huddles into herself with each gratifying sensation. Still, he's patient and waits because he knows that from these little pleasures, she always comes back. As soon as she notices him staring, she returns to him with a smile or the raising of a brow, or just by meeting his gaze and she's back with him, just like that. Then, he sees her, he knows she sees him and he has her again.

Sometimes, however, he loses her to her to darker places. Places where she does not go willingly – places that speak of the pain of her past or the memories of her life before him and he knows he cannot follow her there. Those times he feels as if he were the one who were lost and he realizes that although she always mentions how he has saved her from her darkness, he knows that truthfully, it is she who has saved him.

When she laid eyes on him,_ she_ found _him_. With her kiss, she breathed him into life. With her touch, she showed him how to feel. Before her, he was a puppet going through the motions of living and after her, he was not only alive, but had something to live for, to fight for, to _be_ for.

And when he loses her to those places where he cannot follow, he always feels destitute, and cold, as if he were dying slow deaths and he has to fight against every primal instinct inside him that demands he snatch her back from that place any way he can and that he bring her back to where he can touch her again and where he doesn't feel as if she might never return.

Sometimes, he gives in and kisses her, his mouth demanding her return, calling her back from those places into the present and into his arms and later, when they've both satiated their need of each other, she looks at him and smiles that soft, barely there smile of hers and touches him, and thanks him for bringing her back from the clutch of her memories, for finding her.

He holds her, feels her heartbeat steady against his ribcage and tells her the truth: that he'd be lost without her.

Sometimes, she believes him.


	6. 05: Do You Remember?

**A/N:** Again, not beta'd. I wrote this one and then I decided I didn't like it very much, but now that I've been away from it for awhile, I figure it isn't too bad and I figure I'd just post it. It's brighter and lighter-hearted than the other of these _Memories_ snippets have been. I had an idea to do this theme in a different way, but what the hell? If I end up doing the different way later, I'll just post that one independently.

**Thanks:** on emsccraps. For all five of you.

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_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_Remember the day/ I set you free / I told you you could / Always count on me / From that day on..."  
_- Ain't No Mountain High Enough, Debelah Morgan

_**A Toast (05: Do You Remember...?)  
**_

"Do you remember the time she was turned into a rabbit?" Cyborg offered, lowering a fresh pitcher of Sangria to the center of the table.

"Oh!" Beast Boy laughed uproariously, "That's a good one!"

Raven rolled her eyes, "Yeah, and remember that _you_ were turned into a bear in a tutu and _you_ into an inanimate object?"

"You were turned into a what?" Bumble Bee asked Cyborg, nearly spitting out the sip she had taken from her glass.

"And a what?" Aqualad asked Beast Boy, smiling.

"A _tutu_?" Speedy asked for clarification.

"She was a most adorably fluffy and huggable bunny rabbit," Starfire confirmed joyously.

"Yes, she was," Robin agreed teasingly as he sipped from his own glass.

"And you made a pretty good chimp," she conceded. "If a bit tiny," she added with a smirk.

He laughed good-naturedly, "Hey," he said defensively, "I was saying you were cute as rabbit!"

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into the chair, "I prefer not to think of that time of my life, thank you very much," she said primly.

"I think Mumbo had a crush on her," Cyborg announced.

"Eeeewww!" Bumble Bee exclaimed, "That old man?"

Cyborg laughed, "Well, he wanted her as his assistant, anyway."

Raven scoffed and sipped calmly from her glass, "Why do I always get the freaks?" she asked rhetorically.

"Wait," Speedy interrupted Beast Boy attempt at an answer. When all eyes turned to him, he looked at Cyborg, "A _tutu_?" he repeated. "Seriously?"

Raven nodded, "A pink one, as I recall."

There was about two seconds within which Speedy and everyone else considered the words before the entire table erupted into raucous laughter, with the notable exceptions of Cyborg himself and Raven who never laughed raucously (although she did chuckle some).

Cyborg of course, was too busy glaring daggers at Raven to really note the hilarious picture their friends were getting in their heads. When, wiping at their eyes, their friends finally managed to gain some semblance of control, Cyborg spoke, "This is _supposed_ to be about..."

"PINK!" Speedy exclaimed on a loud guffaw and those at the table broke in peals of laughter again.

Cyborg glared even more meaningfully at Raven who only smiled at him and shrugged. "You brought it up," she said unapologetically.

"Okay, okay," Bumble Bee said, gasping for breath as she tried to control her laughter. "As much as I've enjoyed that image of Sparky in a _pink tutu_," she paused as the others snickered and she had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself enough to continue speaking, "Sparky is right that this is not supposed to be about him." She waited until everyone calmed down. "So, what about it, Sparky?" she asked.

Cyborg sighed but didn't correct her use of the nickname, "Well, it was mostly about how we got into the whole mess in the first place..." at the looks of expectancy on their friends' faces, he continued, "We got _sucked_ into Mumbo's hat."

"Dude!" Speedy exclaimed. "Really?"

Cyborg, Robin, Beast Boy, Starfire and Raven all nodded.

"Well, it was just me Mumbo wanted," Raven spoke.

Cyborg nodded. "Robin was the first to react," he said, taking a gulp of his glass, "And he latched onto her hand and just wouldn't let her go, but the force of the hat was too much, so the rest of us held on in a sort of chain, but instead of keeping her out, all it did was have the rest of us go along for the ride."

Raven looked at her glass, her hair falling forward to hide her face from view. "I don't know what I would have done if I would've been in there by myself," she said, her voice low and serious.

"Oh!" Beast Boy exclaimed, "Do you guys remember the time Raven's powers went all wonky 'cause of the scary movie and she made the Tower into a kick ass haunted house?"

The Titans West made varying noises of agreement whereas the Titans East explained that they were not informed of such an incident.

"It was most scary," Starfire agreed.

"I've gotten better," Raven said in her own defense.

"You sure have," Cyborg agreed, smiling at her.

Raven smiled at him in return but Beast Boy would not be deterred.

"So, that time," he continued, "We all fell through the elevator shaft, cause of course, it wasn't working, and I turned into a bird and flew, Robin used his grappling hook, and Starfire grabbed Cyborg, but I didn't even remember that Raven didn't have her powers and couldn't fly..." he looked at them all, "If it hadn't been because Robin grabbed her as she fell by him, she would've been a Raven Pancake."

Raven nodded, but didn't meet anyone's eyes, "Must we continue with this?" she asked.

"Which reminds me of the time Raven tried to make pancakes!" Cyborg continued as if she hadn't spoken.

Raven sighed audibly. "Not the pancake fiasco," she requested.

"They were most delicious!" Starfire beamed at her friend.

Raven looked at her and smiled gratefully, "At least someone appreciated my attempt."

"We all appreciated it," Robin argued. "We just couldn't digest it."

Raven glared at him but he only laughed. "I fail to see how my cooking--"

"--or attempts thereof--" Robin interrupted.

"--can constitute an instance where I've been 'saved'," she continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"Perhaps not directly related," Starfire provided, "but indirectly as it was just after the day of the pancakes that you were taken by Trigon's minions." Starfire looked at Raven and smiled a smile full of love. "None of us could believe you were truly gone, but..." she trailed off and looked at Robin.

Sensing the deeper turn of what was meant to be a joyful gathering, Bumble Bee cleared her throat, "Yes, Robin saved her ass then too, didn't he?" she asked playfully.

Starfire grinned and nodded, "Indeed he did!"

"So," Bumble Bee looked at Raven, "Is that enough precedent, or do you need more?"

Raven sighed and smiled at her, "Fine, I concede the point." She shrugged delicately, "Robin has saved me various times from certain death and is worthy of the title of _Raven's Savior_." She looked at the Boy Wonder's face and her smile spoke volumes. Only he would ever know all the times and in all the ways he had saved her. "Thank you," she said, raising her glass.

"Great!" Cyborg announced, "So, _now_ can I finish my toast?"

Raven turned to him and nodded. "Yes, Cyborg, please do."

Cyborg stood up. "As I started to say before I was rudely interrupted," he glared playfully at Raven who looked only slightly apologetic. He winked at her and raised his glass, "Here's to Raven's Savior," he met Robin's eyes, "For having the instincts to save her time and time again," he shifted his sight to Raven, "And here's to Raven, for being something worth saving..."

"Here! Here!" several of them agreed, stomping the ground and pounding the table to show their agreement as they clinked glasses and drank.

As Cyborg sat, Aqualad stood up, raising his own glass, "May your joys be as deep as the ocean," he said sincerely, "And your troubles as light as its foam."

"I'll drink to that!" Beast Boy exclaimed, clinking his glass to the others before taking a sip.

"So will I," Raven allowed, flashing a smile at them before taking a sip of her own glass.

"And me," Robin agreed.

When Aqualad sat, the last person yet to make a speech, stood.

"I wish to celebrate the day on which we all met," Starfire started. "I wish to celebrate the love we've all shared," she continued. "But most of all I wish to celebrate my friends, who have had the courage to love each other..."

"And the intelligence to finally figure it out!" Speedy called out, to much laughter.

Starfire raised her glass and smiled joyfully. "In honor of your coming nuptials," she started, "I wish to share with you words of advice, passed down for centuries by my people." The table went quiet as they listened. "I have tried very hard to properly translate this," she said sheepishly, glancing at Aqualad shyly. Aqualad, who must have given her his assistance, nodded at her encouragingly. "May you never lie, cheat or drink." She looked at them and her nervousness died away, replaced by a look of gentle tenderness, "But if you _must_ lie, lie with each other." There was laughter and catcalls. "And if you must cheat..." she paused and was very serious, "cheat only death." Robin's hand on Raven's tightened as they listened to their friend's words and Raven leaned a little into him in response. "And if you must drink..." she smiled slowly and raised her glass. The rest of them raised their glasses as well, "drink with us for we all love you and wish you both all the love and happiness which you deserve."

Their friends clinked their glasses in celebration.

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**A/N:** Obviously references to episodes, _Bunny Raven...Or How To Make A Titanimal Disappear_, _Fear Itself_, and _The End_ and I think that's it.

If someone doesn't understand what they're celebrating and toasting to, then let me know and I'll explain. I wanted to make it subtle-like.

**Spoiler:** Next theme is "Anniversary"


	7. 06: Anniversary

**A/N:** I had a _very_ busy day, so I'm posting this up a lot later than I thought I would. Sorry. I tried to get myself to scrap this whole bit, but I couldn't get myself to do it. Don't hate me for giving in to the fluffiness! (I hope to get this memories themes back onto the darker spectrum soon. Not beta'd

**Thanks:** I hope to get those up tomorrow sometime...(or is that today, later?)

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_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_My home is not a place, it is people."_  
- Lois McMaster Bujold, "Barrayar"

_**Birth  
**__**(06: Anniversary)**_

Raven was a knowledge hound. There was very little that didn't capture her curiosity. Of course, people didn't know that. They knew she liked to read, but they didn't know that she liked to read because it was the easiest way for her to gather information. Her books were varied in themes and weren't strictly fiction. And despite whatever the tabloids might publicize, her sole literary interests were not Poe and dusty old magic books.

Pretty much anything could capture her interest, at least once. She spent one whole afternoon watching _The Cooking Channel _and thought that she had at least some grasp of what might have gone wrong that day so long ago when she attempted pancakes. Not that she suddenly found a latent desire to become the next Emeril Legasi, but there was so much information to be found in cooking shows that sometimes, she didn't realize how much time had passed while she was watching them. She didn't learn just about how to cook food, but she learned about how to appreciate food as well. Things that perhaps others who watched the shows wouldn't pick up on. She was drawn to the colors and the attitudes of these television chefs, as well.

But that was only one of her interests.

She watched television for much the same reason as she read books, although until the introduction of satellite cable to her life, she had found that public television was woefully lacking in the knowledge department. She _hated_ reality shows, for example, although she often found herself enthralled by game shows. _Jeopardy_ might be an obvious choice for her, but _Family Feud _was surprisingly full of tidbits of knowledge. (Who knew so many people thought that purple was a relaxing color?) _Wheel of Fortune_ helped her develop her earth vocabulary and slang and _The Price Is Right_ taught her much about American Consumerism. She didn't really understand gameshows like _The Dating Game_ or _The Newlywed Game_ (why would anyone want to put themselves out like that?) and shows like _American Idol_ baffled her entirely. Strangely enough, television shows such as those found on the 'all news' channels annoyed her. She didn't need for secluded, sheltered, upper-class men and women to pretend to tell her what was going on in the world and/ or what she should think about it. But overall, she learned about as much from television as she did from reading, albeit about different topics.

She also learned from watching her friends. This was a most bountiful fount of knowledge for her. They didn't often know she watched them because she was learning from them, even from Starfire who seemed so often to be searching them out for information herself. At one point, Robin had noticed, but that wasn't surprising, because Robin noticed _everything_. He noticed her watching him train and he taught her hand to hand self defense. She didn't really need it, but in the end, it had come in handy more than once and as knowledge went, it was the useful sort and she welcomed it.

And she learned from pretty much anything. Television, movies, people watching...anything and everything served some education purpose for Raven's knowledge thirsty mind. But the greatest source of information for her were her friends. She learned something (usually more than one thing) from each of them, whether or not they knew it. And only some of the things were practical things...most of them were _existential_ to say the least.

Cyborg taught her mechanics _and_ how to drive. He also taught her that being silly and being mature weren't necessarily mutually exclusive. He taught her acceptance and he was the first one to teach her love. Not the passionate kind of love that one reads about in the romance novels, but the kind of love that is caring and warm and clean of physical attraction, but full of comfort. The love that comes from familial bonds, the kind of love that _nothing_ can ever change. Cyborg was the first person to love her for _who_ she was, not _despite_ it. He was the first person to teach her what _family_ was.

Beast Boy taught her how to laugh. He didn't know it, not really. He thought she never laughed at his jokes, and the truth was, she didn't really laugh _at_ his jokes, she laughed at the joy he felt and found in everything. She laughed at his incessant, tireless ability to find the bright side of any situation. Even though it was only on the inside, she laughed. At first, it was just a way of anticipating the way he was going to react to any given set back, but eventually, she found herself recognizing the good of situations herself, the positive, instead of drowning in the bad. Beast Boy taught her that too.

Starfire taught her friendship...sisterhood, even. Raven had never felt as if she were like anyone else until Starfire had taught her how alike they were. It wasn't as simple as 'girl power' or whatever it was society called that bond between females. It was deeper than that. It was finally feeling as if at least one other person in several worlds _got_ her, just because. Starfire didn't have to understand all the particulars about what was going on with her, but she understood that she was going through particulars and that was enough. It went beyond shopping or meditation or Star's gossiping...it was truly a type of bond, an understanding that went beyond the actual facts of any given situation and was linked to a kind of acceptance like Cyborg's only...more so.

And, despite her lack of physical manifestation of the fact, Starfire had taught her how to be a girl. Sure, she didn't take to wearing makeup or fooling with hair accessories or -- Azar forbid-- pink, but she had never really thought of being a girl until she met Starfire. She had simply been Raven, and all the explicatory adjectives attributed to her had always been tied to what she was meant to do and her parentage, never her sex. She _felt_ more feminine because of Starfire, even if she didn't always show it, but Starfire taught her what it felt like so she could recognize it inside her. She was a girl and would soon be a woman, and Starfire, without even knowing it, had taught her _how_ to be one.

Robin had taught her self-defense. The people of Azarath were a peaceful people...more, they were Pacifists and didn't believe in violence at all. When she came to Earth, she knew so little about warfare...she had read of it, had the capacity for strategy and the physical agility for actual fighting techniques, but it had never occurred to her to learn them. Robin taught her how to fight, how to defend herself, how to think and anticipate her opponents, and how to protect others. How not to rely on her powers but on her abilities as part human. More importantly though, he taught her about hope. Faith. Trust. Belief. All these things she had never even thought to experience she found in his treatment of her. Robin taught her that although being self reliant was good, not needing to be was better. He had taught her that she could be strong and still lean on her friends. Robin respected her, her intelligence, her opinion, her thoughts...he respected her and he taught her that she could be respected, but because he taught her what it was like to be respected, he taught her how to respect others, too. Others, and maybe, even herself. Raven respected Robin above even her tutors on Azarath. Her respect for Robin was shadowed only by the unending respect she had for Azar herself. In a very real way, Robin had taught her how to be human.

Trigon had conceived her, given her part of himself and her powers, the monks and priestesses of Azarath had taught her how to control herself and how to exist, but the Titans had taught her how to _live.._how to _be._ She had come from her mother's womb, but it wasn't until nearly 14 years after that bloody, violent emergence that she was actually born.

The Titans had given birth to her.

And they didn't even know it.

What was worse, she didn't know how to let them know it. She tried to do more things with them, but whenever she acted too different from the way she had always acted, they became suspicious and worried and that wasn't what she wanted.

So, it took quite a bit of planning for her to figure out how to show them how much she cared and how thankful she was. But eventually, she did and in her quiet, efficient way, she planned and prepared it all so that that crisp fall day, a week after the Harvest Moon, when the Titans entered the common room in the morning, it was to find Raven waiting.

"Raven?" Robin asked first, looking around at the breakfast set out on the tables and the various gift wrapped packages on the tables.

Raven was blushing, she knew it, but she wouldn't back off. "I wish..." she started, having to stop and force herself to look up into their surprised and waiting faces, "I wish to celebrate the day of my birth with you."

Beast Boy, mid way to slinking onto the sofa, fell out of it and onto his ass, "Dude!" he exclaimed, rubbing at his tail bone, "Wasn't your birthday a couple months ago?" he asked.

She smiled at him and that made him blink a few times, "Yes," she confirmed, "But..." she, normally with such eloquence and ability with words, was at a loss as to how to explain herself, even if she had suspected they would ask and had prepared herself for the eventuality. "On this day," she forced herself to continue, "Five years ago, I met all of you," she told them, "And on that day," she continued, her pace awkward and uncertain, "I began to live..." she finished and found she was looking at her hands again so she forced her head up and resisted the urge to lift the hood of her cloak, "And now that I can share it with you..." she continued, "I wish to celebrate the anniversary of my true birth..." she brought out a little flag that declared 'Happy 5th Birthday' in bright, sparkly letters and she waved it sheepishly, "Will you celebrate with me?" she asked.

"DUDE!" Beast Boy broke the silence.

"Glorious!" Starfire exclaimed joyously, flying straight at Raven and nearly knocking her over in her impulsive hug.

"Group hug, y'all!" Cyborg exclaimed, coming forward and lifting both Starfire and Raven into his arms in a massive bear hug, "I better get started on that cake!" he said placing them back on the ground.

Starfire giggled, letting Raven go, "I shall begin work on the crown of meat immediately!" she flew off with one more grin at her friend to which Raven just barely winced, but managed to hold the relaxed look of contentment on her face.

"Duuuude!" Beast Boy whined, going after her. "What will I do?" he asked no one in particular.

"You wanna pose for another piñata?" Cyborg asked hopefully.

Beast Boy scoffed, "No," he said succinctly.

Cyborg paused, "You wanna _be_ the piñata?" he asked. Beast Boy did his best to glare at him and Cyborg laughed it off, clapping him on the back. "Just kidding...come on, help me with the cake."

"That I can do," Beast Boy said, following him.

"I think I've still got the old piñata mold somewhere..." Cyborg trailed off as he walked away.

Beast Boy groaned as he walked into the kitchen.

Left alone with Robin watching her, Raven's hand holding the flag lowered as did her eyes. "I'm not good at expressing myself...not when it counts," she said softly, "But I can say thank you..." she looked up and met his eyes, "And hope you understand what I mean by it."

He kept her eyes for what seemed like endless moments until slowly, his lips curved into a soft, understanding smile. "Don't I always?" he asked.

She hadn't ever learned to smile. Not the real smile that came from deep inside and lit up your eyes, the kind of smile she had seen make Starfire so blindingly beautiful and Cyborg so flatteringly happy and Beast Boy so boyishly charming and Robin so surprisingly young. But suddenly, she was doing it.

She nodded, briskly, trying to hide her face so that he couldn't see the blush crawling on her cheeks, "You do." She looked at the breakfast she had put on the table and realized that the others had gone off so quickly to do their own preparations for the celebration they had ignored the food. She frowned.

"Hey!" Robin called into the kitchen, walking to stand next to her, "Why don't we have breakfast before we destroy the kitchen in preparations?" he asked when he saw he had their attention.

"Oh yeah!" Cyborg exclaimed, coming out of the kitchen and sitting in front of the plate that was obviously for him if the overwhelming quantities of meat products was any indication. "Mmm-mmm, Rae! This is what I'm talking about!"

Beast Boy made a face that brightened when he saw the tofu sausage and bacon waiting on his plate, "At least she didn't try to make pancakes again!" he laughed and attacked the food.

Which was a bit of a mistake since Cyborg's smack upside his head made him dive face first into his plate and the choking noises really interrupted the good humor of the moment.

Beast Boy emerged from his plate of food with a very angry look on his face. Before he could fly at Cyborg however, Raven extended a napkin in his line of sight and the reminder that he had tofu egg all over his face brought him back to the present and away from revenge.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"There's more tofu egg in the pan on the stove."

Beast Boy wiped at his face and grinned at her.

When everyone had finally settled into their seats, Robin raised his glass of orange juice, "To the birthday girl," he motioned to Raven, he paused while the rest of them raised their own glasses, "May all her days be blessed with as much joy as she brings into our lives just by knowing her."

"Here here!" Cyborg exclaimed, chorused by the others as they all clinked glasses in the middle of the room.

Raven waited until they had all taken sips of their juice, before raising her own glass, "And to my family," she said, her voice softer than it normally was, yet still carrying. She met each of their eyes, "And all they have taught me."

Her family clinked glasses with her and with that, the anniversary festivities _really_ began.

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**Spoiler:** Next theme is "I Promise I'll Be Back..."


	8. 07: I Promise I'll Be Back

**A/N:** So this one blindsided me last night as I was listening to "Gifts and Curses" by Yellowcard and I knew I had a scene to write here, so I put the song on repeat and just wrote whatever came to my head. It wasn't until halfway through the second part of it that I realized it fit the 'memories' challenge vignettes I was doing. This has so many holes in it...plot holes that I don't explain, I know they're there, but the truth is, I don't really care. I wanted to show the two scenes I showed here and didn't really care about developing the rest of the plot. I hope you guys can live with that. ((Smile))

I said I'd go back to the angsty-darker stuff in these vignettes didn't I? Yeah, well, I had NO idea...

**Thanks:** I owe you guys the thanks for both 05 and 06. I will try to get those done today.

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_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_...and my worst pains are words I cannot say / still I will always fight on for you."  
_- Gifts and Curses, Yellowcard

_**Fight  
**__**(07: I Promise I'll Be Back...)**_

There were tears in her eyes when she held Raven in place. "You still don't understand." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"The only thing I don't understand is why you think I'll be able to make a difference?" she asked.

"Because you always have before," Starfire answered simply.

Raven shook her head, "That was years ago, Star," she said, her tone softening. "We were kids then," she sighed. "He needed someone who could share that moment with him and I did it, but that's..."

Starfire's hand to her lips stopped her from continuing. "You need to give him something to live for, Raven, _please_." The tears started to fall.

Raven felt the tears start to sting at her eyes as she couldn't hold up her mask of emotionlessness in the face of Star's tears. "Kori," Raven said softly, "You were married to him, Barbara was almost married to him, you both still love him, and he loves you, if _you_ can't give him something to live for...what could I do?"

"That's just what I've been trying to tell you," Starfire insisted. "He does love us, he has loved us, but we weren't enough. We aren't enough. You need to give him something to live for. Only you can."

Raven looked suddenly frightened and small. "I don't know how," she admitted.

Starfire held Raven still when she would have walked away by placing a hand on either of her shoulders. "He's been waiting for you, Raven," she said, her voice breaking a little. "He's never loved anyone as well as you, he's never found someone to take your place in his heart though he's tried, but he hasn't, and the lack of it, the emptiness of it has made him careless and now he is going off and if you were to see his eyes you'd know he isn't going to fight to come back to us, Raven." Starfire shook her a little, "I saw his eyes, he doesn't care if he dies, he might even welcome it, please, Raven, please..."

Raven shook her head, "I can't..." she whispered.

"If you continue to question this, if you continue to push him away, he _will_ die. We will lose him."

Raven met her eyes and the tears glittered on her lashes, "How can I give him something I don't know I have?" she asked.

"You love him, you always have, but you ran away because you were afraid of an emotion so strong it could have you welcome death instead of living without the one you love," Starfire said adamantly. "You gave up your life to Trigon once, so you would not have to survive in a world without him, do you remember?" she questioned.

"Without all of you," Raven insisted, but automatically, mechanically, as if it were a well worn groove in a record the needle falls into easily.

"And he braved hell to find you," Starfire continued. "He partnered with his mortal enemy, he let Slade take his soul back, all for you. For _your_ life. Because he refused to believe you were dead." Starfire lowered her head for a moment, "We hated to believe you were gone, but Raven, only he was adamant that you were still alive, only he believed and risked it all."

Raven was crying and she didn't know when she had started or how to stop it. "I don't know how," she whispered. "He was always _my_ hope, how can I give him something he instilled in me in the first place?"

"Just give him your love," Starfire told her. "He'll know what to do with it."

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"What are you doing here?"

Raven approached enough to still his hands in their preparation. He looked at her a moment in surprise at the contact after all the years, and gasped at the look on her face. Before he could question anything, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed him close.

When his arms wrapped around her, he felt something in his soul ease. As if something inside him had been fisted for so many years and only now was able to unclench.

"I'm sorry," Raven whispered against his neck. "I'm so sorry, Richard, please, I'm sorry."

He held her tighter, his eyes squeezing shut against the sudden burn of tears. He didn't know what she was apologizing for, but it didn't matter because it was her heart beating against his chest and he suddenly felt as if he'd come home and he didn't trust his vocal chords to speak even if there was something he could think of to say that was more important than holding her close and inhaling the scent of her.

"I didn't want to leave," she said, and he could hear the tears in her voice. Tears she hadn't shed even when she had feared bringing about the end of the world. "I was scared, scared of loving you and losing you," she continued, "And I didn't think."

He pulled away from her only enough to look in her watery irises. "What?" he managed.

"I love you," she said seriously and plainly, the way she did everything. "I was so afraid of losing you, of hurting, I thought I could live alright away from you if you were out there living your life and happy but..."

"How could I be happy without you?" he interrupted her, almost angrily, almost desperate.

She shook her head and the tears traveled down her pale cheeks, now flushed, "I didn't know."

He brought his hands to hold her face in place, "How could you not know?" he demanded. "How could you not see how much I loved you with each touch I thought would burn me?"

"I was afraid," she answered. "I..." she fought his hold suddenly, wanting to look away, unable to meet his eyes, but he held firm. When her eyes widened at the realization that he wouldn't let her go, and she looked almost panicked, he wiped at the tears on her cheeks with his thumb and brought his lips down to meet hers.

At first, all he tasted was the salty tang of her tears and all he felt was the soft velvet of her lips, but then her lips parted and she breathed and just like that, he tasted _her_, felt _her_ and knew he had finally, finally, come home.

When they finally broke the kiss, he couldn't help but laugh, long and hard, pulling her to him and tucking her head under his chin, feeling the frantic beat of her heart match his and still he couldn't stop laughing. He laughed the way he hadn't laughed in years; the way he wasn't sure he knew how to laugh anymore.

"Now you tell me," he said when he was finally able to speak between laughter. "Now..." he laughed again and it was almost near hysteria. He let her pull back to look at him and he pushed her hair away from her face, "You have the worst sense of timing."

"Don't do this," she said, her eyes still scared, still desperate. "Don't go...not now."

"Is that what this is about?" he asked.

"It took Kori telling me I might lose you forever, yes," she admitted. "I can't lose you, not now, Richard, don't make me lose you now."

His arms tightened around her waist and hers slipped around his back. She pressed her cheek against his chest and he could feel her breathing even through the uniform. "I have to do this."

She was suddenly shaking. His Raven, the stoic, master of emotions, shaking. Shaking for him. "No, you don't," she countered and the cold resolve in her tone was the one that meant business, the one that brooked no argument. She looked up at him, catching only bits of his profile due to the angle. "Leave this alone, Richard, just walk away."

He swallowed, hard and a look of pain crossed his face. His hands were suddenly caressing her face, into her hair, tracing the lines of her jaw, the perfection of her nose, the curve of her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed at the tender touch. "I don't have a choice," his voice soft and pensive. "But I promise I'll be back."

That had been what Kori had asked her to assure. What she had thought she understood was all she could expect. She knew Richard wouldn't walk away from something of this magnitude, not this late in the game, not when there was no other option readily available and everyone was counting on him. She knew it. Knew it the way she knew she would never survive the loss of him. She thought she would be content with seeing the determined look of hope on his face, hope for the future that would ensure his return.

Her hands slid up into his hair, feeling the soft length of it caress her hands like silk, but she didn't stop until her hands were at the back of his head and she could pull him down to her kiss. She couldn't stop the tears from escaping from her eyes as she tasted him, felt him press against her.

When she pulled away, she couldn't pull away entirely and kept her lips a hair's breadth away from his, as if she would feed from his very breath. "You can't promise that," she whispered against his lips still wet with her kiss.

"I can," he whispered back. He bridged the distance between them so that he claimed her lips once more and she felt the bond she had tried so hard to smother flare to life between them. _'Love you,'_ she felt more than heard through his mind as he welcomed her presence there. _'Need you_,' she felt. When they parted and he could speak again, he met her eyes unerringly. "I can promise I'll be back because nothing can make me leave you...not again." He seemed to be touching her as if he were suddenly allowed what he had wanted for so long and was trying to make up for lost time. "Not now," he added adamantly.

She nodded, and although every fiber in her being cried out against it, she pulled back from him slowly disentangling herself from him. "You carry my heart with you now," she told him seriously, like a prayer or an enchantment- words of power, certainly. "I cannot live without it."

He recognized the ritual in her words, felt it pulse through their bond the way he hadn't felt anything ever before and he felt his own soul respond, warmth spreading through him. He knew the way he couldn't know something said in mere words that if he died now, she would die. It wouldn't be a choice of hers whether to live or die, it would simply be. He could almost feel it like a physical thing, the beating of her heart inside the rhythm of his pulse and he knew that although she seemed calm, she was so frightened, for him more than for her. He could taste her smell on his tongue even standing two feet from her. He wanted to go to her, but he was afraid he'd never have the strength to go if he did.

So he did the only thing he could: "I will keep it safe and bring it back to you."

It wasn't until after he was gone and Raven sat alone and cold on the concrete of the roof that Starfire approached.

"I gave him something to live for," Raven said before Starfire could even ask.

"I know," Starfire said softly, sitting next to her.

Starfire watched Raven look at her the way those suffering from shock looked, as if they weren't sure this wasn't all a dream. "The bond's complete," Raven announced, her voice far away and fragile, more fragile than she had ever heard the empath sound. "After all these years of fighting it, protecting him—_myself-- _from tying us together that way..." she trailed off and shook her head. "It was the only way I knew how to..."

Starfire held onto her hand and nodded, "I know," she whispered.

Raven looked away, into the distance where Nightwing had disappeared as if she could still feel him, pulsing even across the miles, and when she spoke her voice was resigned; "I can't live without him now."

Starfire brought the other girl into the circle of her arms and pressed her close, steadily soothing her back as the usually stoic girl clutched at her clothes as if she were a last lifeline in a storm, "I don't think you were ever meant to," she answered.

The truth of Starfire's words broke the final vestiges of her control and for the first time since she was a small child, Raven wept.


	9. 08: Sunset

**A/N:** Remember that I said that these do not relate to each other. Otherwise, if you don't remember that, you might think that this one and **_(01: Ten Years Ago)_** contradict each other. They do contradict each other, but because they're not in the same universe or have anything to do with each other except that they're both dealing with the same characters, then they don't really, you see?

I dunno what to say about this one. It's another one that had a different beginning originally, but then I thought of this way of starting it and it just went entirely from there. The only thing that stayed with me from my original idea for it was the point of view. For some reason, this one HAD to be written First Person Robin. ((shrug)) I _never_ write first person, but oh well.

Oh, and yeah, it's another future bit.

Not beta'd.

**Thanks:** I will be posting those on 'emsscraps'.

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_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_A beautiful sunset that was mistaken for a dawn."_  
- Claude Debussy

_**Meetings  
**__**(07: Sunset)**_

The day I met her, the sun was setting in one of those blazing shows of light and shadow against the foreground of reflective skyscrapers. It's an incredibly funny thing to remember so clearly considering that I don't think I can really remember any sunset or sunrise before that moment. Had I ever really seen a sunset before I saw one standing a few feet away from her? I couldn't tell you, truthfully. I'm certain one must have caught my attention at some point during my youth and I like to think that I might have even shared one with my mother or father while they were alive, but my first clearly distinct memory of experience a sunset, of just standing there and letting the sight of it completely fill up my consciousness, is the one I saw on the day I met Raven.

I'm sure it didn't leave quite the same sort of impression on her at the time. When I approached, she looked at me as if I were some unwelcome intruder into her inner sanctum, even though she was standing on the roof of the Justice League building and if one of the two of us didn't belong there, it would be her.

Not that I belonged much at Justice League central, to tell the truth. I was just Batman's sidekick, and a kid at that. I always felt the other members of the League looked down on Batman for having me around, which made perfect sense to me considering he never really took me with him when he went to see them.

But he had taken me that day. That fateful day. The day that Raven had been refused help by the Justice League, the sect of heroes bound together to help the very people she herself was asking them to help.

And they said no.

When I found out what it had all been about (because of course, I hadn't been allowed into the meeting room while she plead her case and only found out later when Batman told me of it) I had felt ashamed at the thought of having looked up to these men and women for so many years. They had let me down and I would never quite look at them the same. How could they possibly deny to help a child who had traveled so far and was asking, not for some way to save herself, but for help to save the Earth from the fate she knew awaited it.

And they had said no.

It was beyond my comprehension.

And I hadn't even _met_ Raven yet.

I know now that I probably made my decision right that very moment, as soon as Batman had finished telling me what the League had decided. Batman knew it too, even though it wouldn't be until the next day that I told him of it. Of course, I hadn't given that decision weight, even in my head, until later – after I had spoken to Raven myself.

I know Raven thinks I joined her and left Batman because I wanted to break out on my own, because I wanted to be free of the 'sidekick' moniker, but that isn't true. I left Batman because I knew, as I heard her story in Batman's monotonous voice, that if the League wouldn't help her, I _would_. I had to. But I myself didn't know that until _after_ I spoke to her, of course.

I had felt outraged at her denial and at Zatana's dismissal from my first learning of it, true, and I wished there was something I could do for her even then. But it wasn't until I saw her on that roof as the sun set brilliantly in the background that I knew I _wanted_ to help her myself. That I would use every inch of my resources and abilities to bring her some form of peace. Not until that moment, did I realize that it wasn't just about helping Earth and defending against a threat, it was about helping _her_.

Well, frankly, it wasn't right at the exact moment I saw her that I came to that conclusion. No, actually, at the exact moment I saw her I was sort of blown away by the mere sight of her. Certainly too enthralled with her unexpected beauty to think of much at all. I was too young then to understand that sudden awareness of her I felt even then, but I did know that I was struck dumb and immobile by the mere sight of her because I had never seen anyone who drew my gaze the way she did.

Even at my young age, I had seen plenty of beautiful women and I knew enough to recognize that hers was not plain beauty of the kind seen in magazines and the silver screen. It was more than that.

Maybe it was because she was staring at the sunset as if she'd never seen anything quite like it before. As if she were awed and amazed and humbled by such a simple thing that I for one had always taken for granted. The sun set every day, rain or shine, and here she was gazing at it, almost slack jawed, like it was something she would never see again.

And then, she must have felt my presence, for she turned and for a brief moment, I was struck by the focus of those dark purple irises directed to me. Struck like some sort of physical thing that didn't hurt, but wasn't pleasant. Like something hummed to life within me. I still can't describe it, truthfully.

She must have thought I was someone else, or that my purpose was something other than it was, because at the realization that I was staring right at her, she took a step back. "I was only resting for a moment," she spoke.

I was as shocked to hear her voice as I was by the words she was saying. I must have looked as confused as I felt because she narrowed her eyes and regarded me more closely.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Robin," I answered. "I'm Robin." I brought a hand intelligently to my chest, and realizing how stupid it was, lowered it.

"Well, they needn't have bothered to send you, I was just leaving."

She turned to go and I said the first thing that came to my head, (A habit when dealing with her, that I'm sad to say, I have never completely mastered) "Don't leave."

And maybe it wasn't such a bad choice, because she stopped and turned around to look at me and her eyes were considering. "What do you want?" she asked carefully.

"I want to help you."

"Why?" Such a simple, straightforward question that anything _other_ than a simple straightforward answer was unacceptable.

"Because someone should," I said, determination in my voice. "_They_ should have." I shook my head and my hand curled into a fist. Batman insists I had made up my mind to help her as he told me the story, but for years, I had always thought it was at this point. "The Batman told me of your plight and I want to help you."

"What can you do?" she asked and there was absolutely no emotion in her voice, no chiding or disbelief, nothing to indicate that she was trying to insinuate he was unworthy, only a question.

"Probably not much," I admitted honestly. I thought about it for a few moments, "But if the Justice League won't help you..." I paused for a moment as the plan started forming itself in my head. I met her eyes, those shocking points of purple, "Well, then we'll just have to find ourselves our own team who will, won't we?"

There was a moment when she regarded me with absolutely nothing showing in her expression. I was, of course, completely unfamiliar with her non-expressions and could hardly be expected to read her then and no matter how hard I try even now to figure out what she was thinking of in that moment, I cannot fathom it. She won't tell me either.

So now, even 11 years later, I still have no idea what she considered or what she thought, no clue whatsoever as to why she said, "Yes. We will."

Later, I would learn that Raven never _had _seen a sunset before that one. That the sect of priests and priestesses who raised her taught meditation at sunset and so she had never looked upon a sunset before. As she explained that, I remember realizing then how I couldn't remember every really seeing a sunset before that moment either and I think I told her how funny it seemed to me that we had both truly experienced a sunset for the first time on the day filled with new beginnings.

Raven's only response, after a careful few moments of consideration was a half-breathed, "I wonder what the dawn will bring?"

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**A/N:** Okay, so here I go again, messing with the Titans History. I can't help it. It just hit me this way. And I told you I'd be all about messing with their established canon in this series, so there you go. Sue me if you want. You won't get anything. ((sticks out tongue))

Honestly, I don't exactly _like_ this piece. I don't know why. I don't hate it either, though, so I feel kinda weird about it. I think it has some merit, but I'm not particularly proud of it. I don't know how to explain it.

What do you think?

I'll be posting the alternate starts and bits in emsscraps too. Eventually.

**Spoiler:** Next theme is 'Figuring'


	10. 18: Tears

**A/N:** Yes, this fic was not up to be worked on. It kind of snuck passed me. I've been trying to work on **_It Only Takes A Moment XIV: Wishes, Part I_** and **_Stupid Cupid--Chapter 6._** I got inspired for this one a while ago, though and this weekend, I worked on it, thinking it was an independent one. I didn't realize it was this theme until I was almost done with it. Also, I never said I would do the themes in order. My first instinct is to do them in order, but this one came and since they don't have anything to do with one another...I figured, what the hell?

I've already started work on **_09: Figuring_**.

**Thanks:** Special thanks to **_GuardianKysra_** for playing 'plot-beta' again for this one. General review responses for the last one of these I put up will be on 'Emsscraps' eventually.

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_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_You're wounds have healed by now / But you still see your scars..."_  
- This Time, Three Doors Down

_**Scars  
**__**(18: Tears)**_

It was a bit strange to sit, half-naked in a place not the shower and not my room, but considering I don't wear a bra and the only way to get at the wound required upper body nudity, I had little choice in the matter. Since only Cyborg ever came into the medlab when I was here, there was not much to worry about anyway.

Not that Cyborg had the exclusive right to see me naked (half, or otherwise). No, the possibility of anyone other than Cyborg seeing me naked was worrying, but not out of any sense of propriety or modesty. Not at all. It just so happened to be that Cyborg was the the only one who knew - the only one who had seen them - and having to explain it all once was more than enough for a lifetime. I was not looking forward to having to explain it again.

Cyborg and I had this game we played. Whenever I was hurt he'd ask if I was okay. I'd tell him I was, he'd ask if I wanted help, I'd tell him I didn't need it, and then after awhile, he'd come and help me anyway. I didn't depend on that help, I didn't wait for it, but I appreciated it when he offered it and I especially appreciated that he didn't make me ask for it.

So, when I heard the door open behind me, I didn't immediately react to cover myself because I fully expected it to be Cyborg. I knew of course, the second before he spoke, that it wasn't Cyborg. I was already in action and had flipped on my cloak before the door swooshed closed behind him. Of course, by then, it was too late.

"What happened?"

I also knew that he wasn't asking about the three inch wound along my side.. He was there, he saw how it was that I'd gotten that and he wouldn't go dissecting what went wrong with the fight that got me injured in the first place—he would be saving that for debriefing session the way he always did. Like I said, however, I wasn't looking forward to having to explain anything so I didn't let him know I knew what he was talking about. I still hoped he might take the hint, like he so often did, and not press the issue.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking before you enter a room?" I asked coldly.

"I asked my question first."

"Well, considering I'm the one that was walked in on while in a state of undress, I think my question has priority," I answered without bothering to turn to look at him.

He came around so that he was facing me and I picked up on the anger in the tightness of his lips and the way he was gritting his teeth, but I was confused as to why he was angry. He took a few moments looking in my eyes, apparently, waiting to see if I would decide to answer his question. When it was apparent that I wouldn't let up, he sighed and let his eyes canvass the gauze and disinfectant and other materials I had set out to treat my wound.

"I came to see if you needed help bandaging your wound," he spoke, forcefully relaxing his face.

I narrowed my eyes, "Where's Cyborg?"

"He took some damage and he's repairing it," Robin answered much to my surprise. He must have seen the look on my face because he was quick to reassure me, "He's fine, but the damage messed with the motor functions to his arm, so I told him I'd come and see if you needed help."

"Well, I don't need help, so thank you, but you can go." I turned my back to him and waited, pretending to dig through the shelves for something.

"No," Robin spoke outright.

I turned on him, trying not to let the pain of the movement show on my face and narrowed my eyes, "Are you going to force me to let you see me half naked?" I challenged.

He stepped close enough that I could feel his heat through the cloak. "What happened?" he repeated meaningfully.

I sighed. I could already tell he wasn't apt to let this go. Whenever he got that tone to his voice...there was no dissuading him. "What does it matter?" I asked. "It happened before the Titans. _Way_ before."

"If you don't want to talk about it --"

"-- I don't want to talk about it."

He sighed. "At least let me help you clean your wound?"

I kept my face deliberately neutral. "No."

He sighed. "Okay, so I'm not really asking." At my raised eyebrows, he looked completely unrepentant. "You can't do it yourself, you know that, and I refuse to let it fester, so save us both some trouble and move the cloak aside so I can treat your wound."

I blinked, and thankfully, it was the only outward sign of surprise I allowed to show at his decidedly blunt speech. It was especially surprising to hear that his tone was not angry or demanding or high handed. It was almost tired, but mostly blank and straight forward.

In that strange way I could never do whenever I tried but somehow was able to do at the oddest moments, I knew that he had been worried about me. That he had known that I let Cyborg help me when I couldn't do it myself.

Something about that knowledge, or perhaps about the open waiting in his expression had me realize how ridiculous it would be to not let him help. I could fight him about this, and we could go on fighting for hours. He might try to forcefully restrain me, but I didn't think he would. I also didn't happen to think that he'd actually be able to forcefully restrain me, not if I was really trying to keep him from doing it. We could even keep verbally fighting about it. I could keep him going in circles for hours on end if I wanted, but I knew that neither one of us would win in the end and it would just delay the inevitable. I, for one, was tired, and didn't want to delay anything.

So, with a flick of my wrist, I turned the cloak so that it fell over my front and pulled away enough of the material so that he could see the wound along my side.

He sucked in a quick intake of breath between his teeth, but started to work instantly.

His hands as he worked were gentle and quick and it occurred to me that he was pretty good at this doctoring stuff even though he rarely had cause to make use of those talents. It was usually Cyborg who patched us up and Robin had never tried to do it himself. I was surprised that he knew what was what and how to be gentle but firm as he wiped away the caked on blood but I was even more surprised to note the look of careful observation on his face as he considered the severity of the wound.

"This might need stitches," he mused.

"Not on me," I assured him.

"You never get stitches?" I shook my head. "It would only give my body some foreign object to expel as it healed me."

"Can't you heal this the way you...?" I shook my head.

"No," I said, having already explained as much to Cyborg and Starfire but never having had cause to explain it to Robin. "I heal faster than you do, yes, but the way I can heal others is not something I can use to heal myself."

"Why?" he asked, starting to take out gauze and antibiotic cream.

"Because..." I faltered and he looked at me. "I don't know," I admitted. "Only that the only time I can use my power to heal myself is if I'm near death and it's a life preservation instinct. For minor things on myself, I cannot." I shrugged. "I heal faster than human, but not instantly."

"How long will it take you to heal this, for example?" he asked, motioning the wound as he gently spread the cold cream on it. I resisted the instinctual desire to pull away. "A day or two. I will still have a slight scar for another two or three days after that and it will be slightly sensitive, but in a week, there will be no sign that it ever happened." I looked at the top of his head as he bent to continue his careful application of the cream. "If it became infected, it would take longer."

"And you keep no scars?" he asked.

I tensed but I wasn't sure if from his gentle touch or from where I could guess this line of conversation was heading. I knew I could stop this by simply clamping my mouth shut and going silent. He would try to draw me out, but he was almost done with the cream and would have to bandage me up soon. I could have not answered his question. The strange thing was...I did.

"Not usually."

"Why didn't the ones on your back heal?"

"I can't heal them." At his look of confusion and some disbelief, I sighed, "They used a holy relic."

"I thought..."

"Your holy relics mean nothing to me," I admitted, "but I am part demon, and the demon in me is at odds with the holiness of our gods. The Gods of Azarath, the place from whence my flesh came." I thought I was going to say nothing more, but for some reason, I found myself elaborating. "Our holy relics do...things to me if used the right way."

I hoped he might leave it at that. I prayed he wouldn't ask what sorts of things because I wasn't sure I could relive the memories that completely.

His hands had stilled and for a few moments, I was almost convinced he would let it go. Then, I felt the rage wash over me like a wave crashing the shore. I had to brace myself with both hands on the medlab examining table not to reel from the force of it.

"Who did that to you?" he asked, his voice steely calm.

I closed my eyes against the flow of feelings and was incredibly grateful that he couldn't see my face in his current position. I pushed my barriers up at the onslaught of emotions, not even trying to name each of them as they beat against my defenses, but I felt pity there, clear as if it were my own and the anger I felt at that realization helped me to manage speech. "Don't pity me," I said coldly.

"Who did that to you?" he repeated.

"A sect of the monks on Azarath," I answered, keeping my voice as plain and blank as possible.

For a few seconds, he was confused. He had been imagining some torture at the hands of enemies and the reality that my own caretakers had done such a thing to me was, for a few moments, beyond his comprehension. "How could...?" he started.

I wanted to cut off this questioning and above all, the pity, before it could grow so I told him the truth as bluntly as possible. "I deserved it."

"What?"

His reaction was completely unexpected. Telling Cyborg had been different. He had never really asked for all the details, only how it could be done and why I hadn't been able to heal it. I had told him the skeletal outline of the story and he had patted my shoulder and continued helping me heal. I knew he felt for me, but Cyborg at least, knew better than to feel pity for someone who had survived, because every survivor knew that it could have been worse.

From Robin I felt anger and protectiveness and righteousness and all manner of desire to make the people who had hurt me pay and the extent of it twisted me inside.

"I killed a little boy," I answered. I hoped he would be disappointed in me, or disgusted or anything that would make him stop feeling as if he would take on the world in the hopes of easing my pain. Disgust and disappointment, even anger I could handle. Not the others. I couldn't stand much more of that.

"I--" Robin started.

"So, don't pity me," I cut him off before he could say anything else. "I don't deserve it."

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

I glared at him, "Why do you need to know?" I challenged. "Do you want the gruesome details?"

"You tell me you killed a little boy and I believe you," he said softly. "But I don't believe it's as cut and dry or black and white as you're making it out to seem, Raven," he said gently. "If anyone can understand the nuances of gray, I can."

For a few moments, we stared at each other, each certain in our own reasons. For the greater part of my life, I had carried the sign of my greatest evil, all the proof some of the people on Azarath needed that I was more demon than human, as if they had needed anything other than the tone of my skin and the abilities I possessed. I could not pretend that what I had done had not happened and whenever the facts of that day had resurfaced, it had been a painful jab at all my hard won self-control. Other people had asked me to tell the story, some out of a true wish to know-most to punish me. A few people had pitied me: Azar, for one, and some of the more kindhearted of the Priestesses. Most had been disgusted and had never been able to look at me the same again.

Whether the result was pity or disgust, however, each telling served only to ostracized me further and further from the people around me.

Pity. Disgust. Hatred. These I had experienced with the telling of the tale. Cyborg had portrayed nothing as I had told him only a minimal amount - only that it was punishment for a childhood indiscretion, a forgotten lesson. He felt anger toward my tutors for such treatment and thought he understood why I had to be the way I had to be if I had been punished in such a way for showing emotion, but he had never asked for the details.

Not the way Robin was.

And no one, no one, had claimed to 'understand' my actions. I knew he wouldn't think he understood anything once he knew the true story and for some reason, beyond my comprehension, I decided to tell it to him.

"For the first few years of my life, I didn't know what the Prophecy regarding my purpose was. I was kept away from all that, no one told me and the priestesses were adept at controlling their thoughts and emotions around me so I didn't know any better. All things considered," I paused when his hands stilled for a moment, but at realizing that I had stopped, he continued and so did I. "But, it was only a matter of time before the children..." I stopped and began again. "I don't remember how, but I got away one day. I heard the children playing and I wanted to...I don't know, I think I just wanted to get closer. I hadn't felt emotions like I could almost feel from them, but the children..." I closed my eyes, "They knew about me. Something at least, enough. They called me demon spawn. I didn't understand, but then this one child, he was older than me, I don't know by how much, but he said so many things. Many I didn't understand and some that I did. And when the names for me didn't seem to hurt me, only confuse me, he started in on calling my mother a slut and too many other things. I felt hurt and angry and I just wanted him to stop. I just remember clutching my head and saying, 'stop, stop, stop, JUST STOP' and then I blacked out." I wasn't sure what to say next but I looked at him when I said it. "He stopped." Robin's face registered the recognition of what I was implying, so I didn't give details. "The monks found me passed out and the boy dead. It was such a public spectacle that I had to be publicly punished for escaping and for the death --"

"But..." I couldn't let him speak, or I wouldn't finish.

"Only Azar saved me, Robin," I told him. "They would have killed me."

"I thought Azarath was a pacifist society?" he asked.

"It is," I confirmed. "But there is - _was_ - a sect that believed I was a danger and that I should be destroyed." I stopped and despite my intention to keep my voice neutral, I laughed the laugh without humor and scoffed, "_Destroyed_," I repeated with some bitterness. "That was their word," I told Robin. "As if only humans are killed or murdered while everything else is destroyed- for the better good." I shook my head and forced my voice and expression back into neutrality. "Azar saved me, but I had to be punished, so that I would not forget what losing my control would cause me and those around me."

I shrugged the cloak and it slipped off my shoulders, exposing the full extent of the white scars crisscrossing my back. I stood off the table and turned around so he could see it all, holding the cloak to my chest. I looked at him over my shoulder, but I couldn't stand the expression on his face as he took in his first full look at the scars decorating the otherwise flawless flesh and I looked away. I stared at the plain white wall next to the gunmetal gray door as if I couldn't feel the heat of his stare at my back. As if I wasn't thinking that things would be so different now between us.

As if I didn't care.

"Now you understand how being whipped with a holy relic was the merciful thing to do?" I asked when moments passed and he had not spoken. "Why I should not be pitied?"

At the first brush of his fingers against the ugly, discolored lines, I tensed and inhaled a sharp breath through my teeth, as if the warmth of his hand hurt, the way the very air had hurt for weeks back when the wounds were fresh. He tensed in response, but didn't pull his hands away, and softly, lightly enough so that it was almost just the suggestion of his warmth that touched my suddenly cold skin, he traced each and every scar. When he was satisfied, his hand and his warmth fell away and with the breaking of contact, I seemed to come back into myself, as if I had been held in place by something larger and stronger than that touch could ever really be. I felt free to move suddenly, and move I did.

I didn't want to turn around and look at his face. I didn't want him to see the tears gathering on my lids which I couldn't explain. I didn't want any of it, so I took one step, then another, trying to coordinate an escape around the bed in front of me to the door so very close within reach, but I got no more than three steps, barely around the far edge of the bed before I felt his arms encompass me from behind.

The weight of his strength fell on me as he pressed himself against my back and held on tightly. I felt the warmth of him even through the bullet resistant material of his uniform and the softness of his lips as they touched the very tip of one scar where it crested over my shoulder. And I was surrounded by the warmth and scent of him. It enveloped me like a soft and comfortable blanket and underneath it all, the steady rhythm of his heart seemed to coax my heart into life as it beat against my body.

Later, he would tell me how evil and sin were states of mind, how no one could do evil or commit sin if they didn't know they were doing so. How horrible mistakes were just that: senseless mistakes that should never have been made but once made had to be lived with, learned from, and surpassed.

Later.

Then, and for what seemed like hours, he held me.

And for the first time in my relatively young life, I cried.

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**A/N:** Another one where I mess not only with Raven's past, but with her body itself. I don't know, I just figured that if anyone were to have been whipped it would've been her. Don't ask me why I was thinking of something like that...


	11. 10: I'll Miss You

**A/N:** I think I've decided, after months of trying to write theme _09: Figuring_ and nothing coming or working the way I want it to, that these **_Echoes_** just won't let me push them or prod them any way I see fit. I need to let the words come for these as they will. Case in point: This one.

**Thanks:** General thanks going on 'emsscraps' eventually. Probably not tonight, though. This one-shot, drabble-sort was a fluke, inspired in that 'hit-on-the-side-of-the-head-pay-attention-and-write-me-damnit' sort of way. I _should_ be studying.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_Show me slowly what I only know the limits of..."  
_- Dance Me To the End of Love, Kate Gibson

_**Partings  
**__**(10: I'll Miss You)**_

"I'll miss you."

Three simple little words, deceptively simple and relatively shallow. How many times had he heard them spoken? From people in Gotham when he was Dick Grayson, on the street as he passed faceless strangers in the throes of goodbye. Countless. So countless they had lost their meaning and their strength somewhere along the way.

He stopped hearing them. They became a formality. They didn't mean what they should have.

They didn't signify a heart that would be empty and hollow until the other's return. In the off-hand, absent moments when the words and their speaker slipped into his consciousness, he didn't think about the immediate pang of panic at waking and not feeling the other near or the sensation that the air that did not contain the other would be thin and lacking leaving him breathless.

The words were a sweet, casual pleasantry.

He didn't imagine that saying "I'll miss you" might be synonymous with "I don't want to leave you", "don't leave me" or "I'll feel numb without you."

Eighteen years of life and experiences and he didn't know. Didn't even guess.

Until that day, he in the new dark blue and black uniform, she in the white (as if they had switched roles somehow), when she stopped him cold from the threshold of the door (without even entering the garage) with three words.

"I'll miss you."

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**A/N:** Short, I know. Sorry. I kept trying to make it longer, but it didn't seem to fit. Apparently, these _**Echoes**_ have a set framework in mind and they resist any attempt by me to impose something else on them. ((shrug)) Hey, what do I know? I'm just the schmuck who writes down what the voices in my head tell me to.


	12. 14: Chimes

**A/N:** These Echoes come as they will. I went through a mad inspiration rush some weeks ago and got the first two of the sections in this chapter done. THEN, a few days after that, I was reading it over, thinking that I wouldn't be writing anymore for it, that the first two bits is all there would be, but suddenly, I heard the third one. So I wrote it down. What with one thing and another, the first four practically wrote themselves when I wasn't looking. And then I tried to write the last one and Puck pouted his lip, crossed his arms, and looked at me like I was nuts for even thinking I could tell him what to do with this fic. "Oh, you think you can tell me when this one is going to be written and how?" he asked. "I just thought since I knew where you were going with it and you _had_ told me what the last scene was going to be about..." I tried to explain my reasoning. He, however, scoffed. "Fat chance." (Cause yes, he has lovely flowery speech when he's trying to impress people, but when he's talking to just me, he will use very base words.)

So, the long and the short of it is that although I had four-fifths of this chapter done probably a week or two ago, I didn't get the last bit until the night before I left for the EoD? And that, basically, Puck looked at the few lines I had written in it, shook his head and said, "This is no good – we'll have to start this whole section all over again..." So, he started it, but the rest of that last section wasn't written until today. Basically, an hour or so ago.

((shrug))

What can I say?

Not beta'd.

**Thanks:** Again, on 'emsscraps' later on. Dangit. I owe you guys thanks for **_Burn_**, don't I? Aw, crap.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance."  
__**- Bern Williams**_

_**Summering  
**__**(14: Chimes)**_

The sound of wind chimes will always remind me of that summer.

Probably because it was the first thing I noticed about the beachhouse as soon as we stepped foot inside it, but then again, it shouldn't be the least bit surprising that something as peaceful as the soft tinkling of the gentle summer wind making music on the small metallic and wood cylinders would draw my attention.

The back porch of the house was full of them. All shapes and sizes, all kinds of metals, some of wood or glass, some even made out of seashells. I was probably the first to hear them when we arrived at the house – the others preoccupied with the nice appointments of the rental house whereas I was drawn by the sound of the crashing waves so nearby. I didn't think, however, that anyone had noticed when I disappeared in search of the sound, but I had barely had a moment alone to observe some of the most prominent wind chimes before Robin found me.

"You always seem to find the most peaceful spot of any place we go to," he said, his voice low so as to intrude on the music of the waves and the chimes as little as possible. I always did appreciate how he could do that. "How do you do that?"

I smiled a little, something I was doing more frequently around them as of late, and glanced sideways at him, "Pure survival instinct." I motioned behind us where the ruckus over which would be the girls' room and which the boys' was already in full swing.

We smiled at each other for a moment, only half listening to the sound of playful bickering inside the house.

"I'm glad you convinced me to come," he said finally, after a while.

I shook my head and looked back at where the ocean was gently lapping at the shore, foam forming in the breakers. "I did nothing of the sort," I argued, but only half-heartedly. When I turned and found him looking at me, I felt my heart flutter at the look in his eyes, "You're a hard-headed mule and you wouldn't have come if you didn't really want to," I tried to inject sarcasm into the uncomfortably intimate moment.

"I wanted to," he admitted, nodding his head. "There's no doubt about that," he shrugged and looked back at the sea. "But if you wouldn't have asked, I probably wouldn't have come."

I frowned. I wouldn't normally have pressed, but I think perhaps I was entranced by the sound of the chimes. "Why not?" I questioned.

"Scared, I guess," he answered.

And I wonder, even now, whether the sound of wind chimes and the ocean served as some sort enchantment for truth telling because I had never ever heard Robin saying anything like that and I wasn't certain why he was saying it then.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

I will never be able to smell the salty tang of the ocean without thinking of that summer.

The smell of the ocean was everywhere. In the kitchen when we were fighting over breakfast, in the living room when we were watching television or playing board games, in the bathroom when we tried to wash the salt water off our bodies, and in our bedrooms when we were trying to sleep.

Everywhere.

The scent of the ocean and the melodious tinkling of wind chimes. It followed us wherever we went, whatever we did.

It was the sound of windchimes those first moments at the beach house that drew me onto the back porch to find Raven there. It was the lulling sound of windchimes playing harmony to the crash of the ocean that called me onto the sand that first night and it was the sound of windchimes and the smell of the ocean I'll always associate with falling in love.

"What do the stars look like from Azarath?" I asked her one night, out of the blue.

She didn't look surprised at my question, but there wasn't really a reason why she should – we had been asking each other all sorts of random questions during these late night rendezvous.

I had to turn a little on my side to look at her, but her expression as she blinked up at the blanket of sky above us hadn't changed.

"I don't remember," she admitted, and she might as well have been saying how old she was. "Do you remember what the stars look liked when you were a child?" she asked.

I chuckled and turned onto my back again, "No," I admitted.

She was quiet for awhile before speaking again, "I don't think I ever looked at the stars when I was a child on Azarath," she admitted in the same bland, almost pensive monotone.

"Why?" I asked, sitting up on my elbow to better see more of her, ignoring the sand biting into my skin.

She turned her eyesight and suddenly, it was fixed on me and I realized how close I must have been almost blocking out her view of the sky and I remember wondering why she didn't move. "Scared, I guess," she echoed.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

I didn't hear the wind chimes until that first night – I was too enthralled by the overwhelming presence of the sea. I had never seen the place where the ocean and the shore met as lovers before, and had only ever seen the salty body of water strike at rocks or edifices like an angry and persistent soldier or smooth and endless like the sky.

There were so many things to draw my attention that first day at the beach house, I am ashamed to say the small, tinkling sound of the metallic and glass chimes did not break through to my conscious until that night, when the whole of the house was still and I was finally settled down enough to hope to sleep.

When I did hear it, however, I was immediately entranced. What lovely music! It was, perhaps, too soft for normal Tamaranian ears, but my ears had long since grown accustomed to the more subtle intricacies of human music and I was anxious to find the source. I turned to my room companion, hoping she might still be awake, and could see the silhouette of her face against the soft light of the stars and the moon let in by the open window just on the other side of her. When I saw the flutter of her eyelashes, I knew she was awake, even though she was staring directly upward at the roof.

"Raven," I whispered, so as not to disturb the music, "Where do you suppose that music is coming from?"

And as if the musician had heard me, it stopped and I frowned, sitting up.

"It'll be back in a moment," Raven answered, her tone no lower than it normally was, but still somehow she managed to make it reverent and quiet. I was quite often awed by Raven's ability to be unobtrusive and still.

Before I could question her, the music started again and I smiled and stared at her, "How did you know?"

She closed her eyes and turned her head toward the window, but I was sitting now and could still see her profile. "It's the wind."

"The wind makes such glorious music in this part of the world?" I persisted.

"Yes," she answered. "Apparently, it does."

The next morning I would learn about the small pieces of metallic cylinders and how the wind uses them to make music, and although throughout that summer I would learn many more things about earth, it wasn't until a few nights after that first night that I would learn a very important lesson about people.

That night, not long after we had arrived at the beach house, I woke in the middle of the night after dreaming of Silkie doing what I had just learned about that day, WindSurfing on the waves outside the house. (Only he was still too short and couldn't reach the bars – poor thing.) I sat up in bed and found myself alone in the room. I was not surprised, since I knew Raven rarely slept through the entire night, even in the Tower. And as I laid back down, listening only half-heartedly for the sounds of Raven puttering somewhere in the house, I heard something else instead.

Voices. Low, murmuring voices, coming into the room through the open window, just under the sound of the crashing waves and the singing chimes.

I couldn't make out what they were saying, and the only reason I thought I recognized them at all was through my knowledge that no one except Raven and Robin could speak in such low tones, even in the dead of the night. Still, I stood from the bed, wondering why they might be awake at such an hour, and padded to the window, looking out onto the porch, searching for their forms in the light of the moon and the stars.

And there they were – Raven leaning against the porch balustrade with her back to the house, bare feet digging in the sand and hair blowing in the wind, her beauty illuminated in the scarce light rather than lost in the darkness. Her face was turned away from where I could see it, just slightly toward Robin on the other side of her.

Even though I couldn't understand their words and I couldn't make out what expression she wore, I was immediately convinced that nothing bad had pulled my friends from their beds so late at night, for their manner was casual and calm – happy even.

But it wasn't until Robin shifted and he stood directly in front of her, and Raven followed him with her eyes, turning her face so that I could see her profile, even more of it when Robin pulled the hair the wind had blown against her face behind her ear that I could see the smile on her lips.

It wasn't a very big smile, as far as smiles went. But where Raven was concerned, I knew exactly how important even that small tilt of her lips meant.

And still—it wasn't until I saw the answering smile on Robin's lips that I learned what love looked like.

I will never be able to think of that summer without thinking of that smile and the music of wind chimes.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Most of that summer is a blur in my memories, several points highlighted with more clarity by the dredging up of photographic evidence of moments stilled forever in time.

Volleyball on the beach (remembered by the production of the photo of BB spitting out sand after a failed save had him skidding into the warm powder-like sand), windsurfing on the ocean (a picture of Raven fighting to hold onto the mast of the sail reminding me of the way Starfire had let go of her own in an attempt to help Raven only to fall into the water before Raven did) bonfires on the sand at night roasting marshmallows and hotdogs (a picture somebody -- Robin? -- took of me attempting to hold four poles with hotdogs on them to satisfy my hearty appetite enough to make me hungry all over again – those were good hotdogs!) horseback riding (the picture of Robin warily eying the gray gelding he had been given to ride enough to send me into stitches even now whenever I remember the way the Boy Wonder had insisted the horse had it in for him just because it kept trying to turn around and bite at him even after he was on it) were just a few of them.

And then there were the wind chimes. I will always remember the sound of the wind chimes.

They were everywhere.

I'm not sure if the reason the only memory I have clear in my head without the need for photographic reminders _is_ so clear because of her inane comment about the sound of the wind chimes. I don't think so. I think the memory of the sudden fear that slammed into my stomach when Raven's form didn't emerge from under the wave that caught her by surprise will be with me always for the sake of the fear alone. And still, the look on Robin's face as he came out of the water, carrying her in his arms might add to the clarity of the memory. Eventually, when Raven finally caught her breath, assuring us all that she was fine and hadn't really been drowning at all, but had just lost her bearings inside the water, I thought Robin was about ready to shake her.

"I would've found my way back, eventually," she said, as flippantly as Raven ever said anything. "I would've just followed the sound of the wind chimes."

Robin had looked as if he wanted to do something very drastic.

So, though Raven's bad attempt at making light of the fact she had almost drowned was enough in it's own right to have a clear spot in my memory, I think ultimately, it was the look on Robin's face that ingrained the whole incident in my memory forever.

And, although in retrospect, I'm sure he must have had that look on his face many times before (it wasn't like that was the first time any of us had been in mortal danger, not with our professions) and although that day on the beach was certainly not the last time I saw that look on his face, the only thing about that summer I will never forget is the look on Robin's face when he almost lost the woman he loved to a stupid wave.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

It was the Frisbee's fault.

It totally was.

If the Frisbee hadn't flown way off from where it was supposed to go, I never would've had to chase after it and I never would've happened to glance up at the house. I don't even know what it was about the back of the beach house that called my attention that time, it wasn't like I hadn't seen it a dozen times throughout that summer. Maybe it was the fact that the wind blew off from the ocean just then and all the chimes set off at once, making one helluva racket, even as far as I was? Maybe my mind caught something strange even though my eyes didn't really, who knows?

The point is, I did look up at the back porch of the beach house and I might have looked away just as uninterested (after all, Robin lounging on the hammock reading a book wasn't as strange that summer at the beach house as it might've been in the Tower and the presence of Raven somewhere nearby wasn't really strange either, since that's where she was most of the time) but I heard something just under the sound of the chimes and it made me do a double take and narrow my eyes, perking my ears before I had even realized I was trying to verify if I had heard what I thought I heard.

Whatever it was she had said had caught Robin's attention, that was for sure, and he had put his book down alongside himself to give her his full attention, even though he didn't sit up from his reclining position on the hammock, he didn't even move his right arm from cradling the back of his head. But he smiled at her where she stood, leaning against the back doorframe. He spoke to her, but although I heard the murmur of his voice, I couldn't make out the words since the freakin' chimes had started up again and was drowning the particulars. The wind pulled at her hair and she raised a hand from where they were crossed at her chest to push it back away from her face.

Her mouth opened and she spoke again, but I couldn't make it out and I was starting to seriously consider crouching a bit closer to get a better notion of whether I had heard correctly or not but she moved, stepping away from the doorframe, casually stepping onto the wooden deck on her bare feet (I had been surprised to realize how often Raven liked to go about in bare feet at the beachhouse) and she approached the hammock. Robin's eyes followed her movement, the smile still on his face as he listened to her intently.

I think I knew in that moment that something big had finally happened and I remember feeling incredibly annoyed that I had missed it. It was like realizing that a something big and amazing was going to happen, like Haley's Comet, waiting for it all night, and then realizing you'd fallen asleep when it passed.

"...too..."

"...long...?"

Snatches of conversation floated to me on the breeze and I inched just a little closer.

"...always..."

She seemed worried, cautious, I could read her body language easily enough, even thought she was still approaching. "Wha-...do...-ers?"

His body language didn't change, but I could tell he was being careful. Robin was nothing if not careful. He was acting the way one acted when there was a skittish animal approaching them and they were afraid of making a move that would frighten them away. But he laughed. I could hear that clearly enough. "They've...out...bef-...did."

I watched as she came to some decision all on the expressions of her face and I knew that I hadn't missed it – that I was just witnessing it and that I didn't really need to hear them to know what they were talking about.

"Wha-...reading?"

Robin lifted the book and showed her the cover.

"--ites."

He nodded. "I know."

I walked away after Raven smiled at him, I didn't need to see anything else, but I turned back once when I was out of sight of them, over a sand dune when I couldn't hear even the chimes anymore and could only hear Cy and Star calling out to me from the shore below.

It was the frisbee's fault but whenever I hear windchimes, I'll only ever be able to remember how Robin made room for Raven on the hammock and how comfortable she looked as she fit herself into the curve of his body settling her cheek against his chest as he lifted the book so they could both see it.

They didn't even kiss, just lay together on the hammock, and his right hand just eventually found her hand where it rested against his stomach and her legs tangled up in his as they read. That was all. But then again, they didn't have to do anymore. I knew that even then.

I think I'll always associate the sound of windchimes and the smell of the ocean with the first moment I knew, really knew, what love looked like.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**A/N:** I warned you these _Echoes_ would be different, didn't I? Yeah. How's this for different? Did it work? I honestly read the first bits of it and thought, "WTF?" but I figured why not? So here you have it...whatever it is...


	13. 16: Video Clips

**A/N**: Not beta'd. Sad. Sorry. (And yes, IOTaM is done in first draft. I'm working on the second draft, then I send it off to the betas. It WILL be posted before May 3rd) Again, remember, these don't have anything to do with each other.

_**Echoes  
**__**by Em**_

"_And I can't remember life without you / The way it used to be..."  
- _If You Ever Leave Me, Vince Gill & Barbara Streisand

_**Celluloid  
**__**(16: Video Clips)**_

He heard the distant sound of a crowd and music the moment he stepped into the entry hall. He knew he hadn't forgotten about a party and the sound seemed to be coming as if from far away anyway, so it wasn't very hard to figure out where it was coming from even before he heard the recorded voices muted by the distance between him and the family room at the back of the house.

Even though all he could make out were the sounds of an obvious party; laughter, bits of conversation, music, he knew, somehow, exactly what was playing and when he walked into the family room and saw the shaky images of finely dressed people under a beautiful blue sky on their big screen flat panel, he felt his throat constrict.

"Gar, you keep shaking that camera any more and people'll think they're watching an earthquake!" Victor's voice said sharply through the television's speakers.

"I am NOT shaking the camera!" Garfield's voice came through, a defensive whine.

"Let him shake the camera," Raven's droll voice cut in, quickly being followed by her visage as the camera did a dizzying pan to find her. "The less I remember about me in this dress, the better off I'll be in the future."

The camera panned from Raven's face which looked as if she were wearing no makeup save for a dash of color on her lids, a lining around her eye and the barest hint of a natural shade on her lips down her body in the peach-pink taffeta _long_ gown, pausing when it reached her matching peach-pink slippered feet before making it's way up the princess cut dress all the way up to her gently upswept purple hair.

He smiled as he remembered how much she bitched about how not only did the dress not go with her skin, it certainly clashed with her hair.

"I see nothing wrong with it," Gar's voice came, highly amused, from next to the camera's mike.

"How many times do I have to warn you against checking out my girl, Garfield?" his own voice said, as he made an appearance from her left, stepping up to Raven and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, tucking her against him and smiling at the camera.

"Awww," Victor cooed, "How cute. It's like a fairy tale: the Best Man and the Maid of Honor!"

"How cliché'd is that?" Karen asked, coming up to the group of them.

Raven slipped her hands into his hands and he still remembered what a thrill he got each and every time she did. "And if it isn't the high school sweethearts talking about clichés," she said with a smile to her tone.

"You tell 'em babe," he joked, resting his chin on her shoulder. She turned her face to him and smiled so that only he could see it. It was her secret smile. She had only ever given it to him.

"Hey," Victor defended. "at least we figured out that we were meant to be together _way_ before you two hard heads did."

She turned back to him and raised a brow.

"So…" Karen preempted a meaningful pause. "Getting any ideas here you two?" she asked them, waggling her eyebrows. "I mean, do I have to rig it so that Raven gets the bouquet at the end of this thing or are you guys planning on tying the knot anytime soon?"

They looked at each other, something akin to panic in their expressions (or, as close to something like panic could cross Raven's features) and Raven looked somewhere behind camera and camera-man (including most of their friends who were facing them on Gar's side) and pointed.

"Oh, look!" she said with false brightness in a transparent attempt to change the subject. When their friends (and with another dizzying pan to the right, the camera) turned, she faltered momentarily for something to have been pointing at, finding nothing except the band coming back from break on the makeshift bandstand. "Music!"

He turned her around in his arms and smiled into her slightly amused eyes, "Shall we dance?"

"Lets," she said, beginning to show signs of relief.

He led her gracefully out onto the dancefloor where they fell in with the other couples executing a charming waltz.

"Damn," Karen exhaled under her breath. "We nearly had them this time."

"Curse the musicians for giving them an out," Victor concurred. They watched them dance in silence for a few moments, before Victor turned to Karen. "Can you really rig the bouquet thing?" he asked.

Karen smiled wickedly. "With Kori's help, sure."

"Then get to it, woman!" Victor said, pecking her on the lips and sending her on her way with an affectionate pat on her own peach-pink taffeta covered behind.

"Oh, you're so gonna get your ass whooped for that," Gar teased, the camera shaking a little as he laughed.

"Maybe," Victor said mischievously and there was promise and expectation in his smile as he watched her walk away. When he turned back to the camera, he frowned. "Now get that camera off so we can plan our next move!" he demanded.

"Oh, right!" Gar exclaimed, and the picture went dark, followed by static.

Teether, although he's too old to answer to that childish nickname anymore, on the couch in front of him, finally turned to face him, tears in his eyes and staining his cheeks. "Why didn't you ask her to marry you that day?" he asked, his voice soft and strained.

Richard swallowed passed the bitter ball in his throat and managed to find his voice, "We thought there would be more time." A harsh whisper was all the came, even though he was trying to be casual.

Teether (he had only ever let Raven call him that after his eighth birthday) scoffed, flicking off the television and uncurling from the couch. "I guess you were wrong," he said with only some bitterness in his tone.

Robin closed his eyes and could still see the ghost of her secret smile.


	14. 13: Wonderland

**A/N:** Keeping true to form as far as these _Echoes_ are concerned, I have absolutely _nothing_ to say about this. I've stopped fighting them, I've stopped putting my two cents in. The characters and my muse completely owns me on these. I can tell you that the whole idea of it was inspired by the idea of a wistful Raven saying, "I was a child, once." And then the song came on and...-shrug-.

Not beta'd. Not even by me. I think I read over it once. Forgive me?

**Thanks**: Later tonight or tomorrow on 'emsscraps'.

**_Echoes  
by Em_**

"_Far away, long ago / glowing dim as an ember / things my heart used to know / things it yearns to remember..."  
_- Once Upon A December, from Anastasia

_**Snowfall  
**__**(13: Wonderland)**_

Raven seemed to go still and pensive as the soft, eerie melody floated around them. She stared at the swirling flakes of fake snow inside the globe and her eyes became distant. "I was a child," she whispered, as if she didn't actually intend for anyone to hear her. "Once upon a time."

"Is that melody from your childhood?" Cyborg asked, just as quiet, as if afraid to break the spell.

Robin _remembered_ something, the scene racing across his memory in that way her memories did sometimes ever since they had shared time in each other's conscious. Raven shook her head and blinked and the look was gone. She glanced at him and turned to Cyborg.

"I do not remember," she answered, handing the musical snow globe back to Beast Boy and walking away.

Robin followed, finding her standing at the large window, staring out at the snow. He knew she felt his approach, but she didn't acknowledge him, even when he stood behind her, so close he could see where her breath fogged the glass. He stared at the storm outside for a moment.

"I remember a storm," he said, his tone low and pensive. He knew the memory wasn't his, but he remembered it as if he lived it. "Like this one, but I was happy because there was a party..."

Raven listened quietly, her expression never changing. "It was the solstice."

"I remember horses," he continued in the same soft, low tone. "Beautiful large horses, brown and black and white, coming through the storm like something out of a tale, pulling large painted wagons and covered sleighs..."

"The guests," Raven answered. "We never had guests except for the Solstice, once a year..."

"I remember wings on a little girl," he looked confused, as if he was sure he couldn't be remembering correctly. "Really colorful wings, painted every color, red, green, blue, the colors blurring together in the firelight as the little girl with silver hair moved..."

"They always performed," was all Raven answered. "I thought they really were the fae they pretended to be for so long."

"Dancing," Robin added, after awhile. "Adults dancing, looking so graceful, as if they'd practiced it."

"I always wondered how they'd learned," Raven added, swallowing, her eyes focused intently on the snow outside.

"Someone's sings this sweet song," Robin remembered, starting to hum a few bars. "So haunting."

"Azar had a beautiful voice." Raven frowned. "I can't remember the words."

Robin sighed as he remembered something else, "Someone holds me," he said through the tightness in his throat. "Safe and _warm_."

Raven swallowed, "Mother," she said, wrapping her arms around herself tightly and closing her eyes against the sight that had allowed her to remember such things.

Without thought, Robin slid his arms around her from behind, locking them in front, pulling her back into his warmth, resting his face against her shoulder when she didn't resist, feeling her heart beat against his.

"She wasn't supposed to touch, to hold..." he hesitated, frowning.

"But I didn't know that then," she added. "I was always so cold."

He laced his fingers through hers, and she let him. "I remember..."

"No more, Robin," she whispered and her voice was only mildly broken. "No more memories. No more past."

"I've got you now, Raven," he said into her ear. "I promise."

When she let her head rest back against his chest, he only held her tighter.

"I know."


	15. 15: Silent Night

**A/N:** Uh…true to _Echoes_ form, I don't know what to say about this. It didn't come out exactly the way I had planned, and I have a feeling there's something _different_ about my writing style in it, too, but I don't know. I said I wouldn't question these anymore, so here you go. (Initially the idea popped into my head while listening to "The Dolphin's Cry" by Live. The rest of the song-list is at the end.)

**WARNING:** This is slightly limey--or, insinuated as such. Nothing completely obvious or in your face, but yeah...not for the kiddies. Rating upped accordingly.

**Thanks:** I really do apologize for the last one…thanks for sticking around…Individual responses on emsscraps.

_**Words  
**__**(15: Silent Night)**_

"_Silence is also speech."  
_- Proverb

It did not escape his notice that every moment of any significance in his relationship with Raven came at him abruptly and, usually, silently.

At thirteen, she was suddenly there, appearing serene and composed right smack in the middle of the path of his life. Sure, he could have walked around her, she probably expected him to, but that wasn't what he did. He took one look at her, saw how small and alone she looked, and led her somewhere safe, where he could protect her, because that was what he knew he had to do.

Instinctively.

He never doubted or stopped to ask himself what it was about her that made him leave the only life he'd known since the moment his parents had died and walk off into an unknown future to fight an as yet unknown enemy.

She didn't speak then, but he thought he could read the suspicion, doubt, and eventual gratitude in her eyes.

At fifteen, she was snatched out from under his protection, unexpectedly. He acted without thought, jumping into the unknown yet again, clasping her hand and refusing to let go, heedless of the consequences to following her into a mad magician's hat of tricks and heedless of the fact he was bringing their friends into it as well.

That he followed her wasn't nearly as surprising, however, as the realization he came to as he held onto her hand, more worried about not loosing his grip than of actually keeping her from the inside of Mumbo's hat. (He never _really_ tried to keep her out of the hat.)

He didn't understand the realization until much later, after they'd emerged from the hat and everything was as back to normal as things got for them in the Tower. It wasn't until then that he was able to dissect the feelings that flooded him as he held on to her tiny hand and stared into her scared eyes.

_'Don'tgocan'tloseyou...'_

They never really had to talk. He knew from a gesture, a hesitation, a glance what she was thinking. He knew the meaning of her stillness and implications in each breath. He could translate her silence into something more precious than words, like an interpreter, he knew the feeling behind them.

But the translation of the look in her eyes that day would haunt him, like a shadow, ever present and always out of reach, always just barely shy of discernment.

She hadn't called out. Not to him, not to anyone. She hadn't said a word, or uttered a sound.

At nineteen, on the day she left the Titans, he finally, _finally_ understood the look, although it was an understanding that came too late to do him any good. The look was there again that day, sans the fear, the moment their gazes touched before she turned, without a word, and got into the back of the car waiting to take her away. And he, older, more mature, not in a state of nearly incomprehensible panic himself, could finally read it. Like a picture once fuzzy, suddenly clear.

It was goodbye.

The realization shot through his chest, extending into his arms, tingling like electricity in his fingers, his palm, with the need to reach out and take her hand, to stop her from going or being pulled with her, whichever the fates had in store, but to not be parted, not to be left behind.

Not to watch the chasm grow between them and have to stay and watch her leave.

In the end, he didn't reach out. He didn't move.

He didn't say a word.

Words weren't necessary between them after all.

In the end, Nightwing hardly spoke anymore at all. Words were useless. So that the moment he thought surely meant his death, he hadn't called out, had no words he wished to say. How could he put into words his regrets? His desires?

At twenty-four, she was suddenly there, and he was reminded of the first time he saw her, but then she had seemed small and scared, and the sun had gleamed on her short purple locks (he had thought them so strange then) and he had wanted so much to protect her. Now, she stood before him, bathed in moonlight, uncertain, but unafraid, hair grown past her shoulders and down her back, blowing gently in the breeze from his opened window, eyes wise, and open, and he was surprised, more than anything else, with how easy it still was to read her, to understand her.

They came together without a word, hands reaching and touching, grasping and caressing, lips meeting and tasting, giving and taking. Neither made any audible sound, the press of his lips on her hipbone substituting for a moan, the press of her teeth on his shoulder for a gasp, his fingers pressing into her waist telling of his want, the nail marks on his back betraying her need.

When he entered her for the first time, it was the look in her eyes that told him in the softness of her expression, the tenderness in her eyes, what he'd waited all these years for, what had been missing in his life all of his life. She apologized for running away by wrapping her legs around him, holding him close, bearing his weight, and when he kissed her forehead, and her hands relaxed in his hair, he knew she accepted his for not calling after her.

When finally, some time later, she inhaled sharply and sighed as she tipped over the edge of pleasure, a small sound strangled in her throat broke the spell of silence around them and he was unable to hold the gasp as he followed her climax almost immediately after.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**Notes:** The song list is below.

1. The Dolphin's Cry – Live

2. Beautiful Goodbye – Amanda Marshall

3. Gravity – John Mayer

4. Frozen – Within Temptation


	16. 12: Is It You?

**A/N:** Inspired by a song. The italics is the song, but I won't tell you the title until the end. I wasn't sure this was an Echo. I thought it could be a stand alone, but _**GuardianKysra**_ convinced me it was.

**Thanks:** To _**GuardianKysra**_, of course, for reading through this and letting me know I wasn't on crack thinking this was done. Individual thanks on 'emsscraps.'

_**The Hardest Part  
**__**(12: Is It You?)  
**__**By Em**_

There was a smile she had, and it wasn't even really a smile, not in the conventional definition of the term, but he knew it when he saw it, could read it in the lines around her eyes, the shape of her brow and the set of her jaw.

It was his favorite smile, because it was soft and tender and meant only for him. It spoke to him, that smile, and told him words she could never express, whether because she didn't know how or because she was uncertain of the timbre of her voice if she spoke them. That he never heard them didn't matter, because he saw it, could trace it, his fingers gently painting the shadows in the dip of her cupid's bow mouth, the slope of her cheek.

She looked up at him, her hair fanned out in a wash of purple against his cream colored sheets, only the corner of one pillow cradling her head while the other lay discarded somewhere alongside the bed and she offered him that smile and nothing else existed.

"I thought you were hungry?" she asked, the light from the candles catching the flecks of blue in her otherwise deep purple eyes.

"Oh, I am…" he assured her, bending his elbows and lowering until he could reach her lips.

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart, waking up is the hardest part…_

His eyes opened slowly, consciousness dawning by degrees, like the sun outside his window beyond the heavy drapes. Automatically, he reached across the bed and touched only cold sheets.

For a moment, his brain refused to comprehend that he was alone. He had just been with her, she had smiled at him, he could still feel the memory of her warmth against his skin, the sweet weight of her pressed against him.

He looked around his room, but there was nothing left of her presence. When had that happened? Still, his eyes searched for her. He lay still and listened, hoping to hear the water running in his bath, almost managing to. Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow seemed to move and he sat up and turned, but she wasn't there – just a trick of the light on a mound of clothes in his desk chair.

Finally awake, he suddenly couldn't breathe.

'She's not here.' It echoed in his mind. 'She's gone.'

He was on his knees on the carpet by his bed and he didn't remember standing from the bed.

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart, giving up is the hardest part…_

He went through the motions of hygiene, bathing, dressing, he put the mask on, but he didn't bother to spike the hair, merely ran a hand through the dark strands (they were too long now to spike anyway), all the while trying to fight the ghosts of memories that seemed sometimes more real to him than the cold, listless world around him.

He brewed coffee, picked up the paper, poured coffee in a cup, and sat in the booth with the paper open to the crime section in front of him, but he had a hard time making out the print, and although he held the mug in his hand, he forgot to drink.

Unexpectedly, slender, pale arms slipped around his neck from behind and he was assailed by the warmth of her aura, the smell of gardenias and faintly of incense. His coffee cup overturned and spilled across the paper.

"Great, Rae," he chastised, mopping up the mess even while her arms remained around him. "Now how am I supposed to keep up with the news?"

"Right," she drawled, her lips close to his ear and a hint of laughter in her voice. "Because you can't get a fresh paper off the street vendor just inside Jump?" she asked.

"That would mean leaving the Tower, wouldn't it?" he asked, pushing aside the soaked napkins and unrecognizable paper.

"I could always…" her arms started to slip from around his neck but his hands, ever quick, reached up to hold them in place.

"I think," he said, turning just slightly in the seat so he could lead her to stand in front of him before bringing her down onto his lap. "I'd prefer to keep you right here."

"I rank above the news of the day?" she asked, mildly surprised. "I am honored."

"Smart ass," he said, chuckling as he raised hands to tangle in her hair, cradling her head and pulling her down for a kiss.

_Then all at once you have to say goodbye…_

Cyborg came into the kitchen, and suddenly he realized he was alone again. His coffee in the mug was cold, the paper still untouched and unread in front of him and Cyborg was asking him whether he was getting enough sleep.

"Sleeping's all I want to do lately," he answered, or at least, he meant to. Whether the words came out of his mouth or not, he couldn't be sure. He ran a hand through his hair and met Cyborg's eye steadily. "Waking up's the hard part."

"No it isn't," Cyborg said, sitting across from him. "It's saying goodbye that's the hardest part."

He couldn't argue. He didn't think he'd ever have the strength to say goodbye – to give up hope…to give up _her_.

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

**A/N:** The italics is NOT me…the italics is a song called "Dreaming With a Broken Heart" by John Mayer. It was listening to this song that made me envision this one-shot, and I had it on repeat the entire time I was writing this, so yeah…to get the full effect, go listen to it.

As for the story itself – I know some of you will wonder: Where is Raven? Is she dead? Has she disappeared? Or did she simply walk out?

Answer: I don't know. It's up to you to decide, okay? It could be any of those things or none of them. _**GuardianKysra**_ has a theory. (I think I kind of like her theory). If you're interested in knowing what her theory is, comment on my 'emsscraps' journal where I will thank all y'all who reviewed last time. If enough people want to know, I'll post a journal with what her theory is and even have an open discussion on theories.

What's yours?


	17. 19: Please Forget About Me

**A/N:** Another one inspired by a song. Again, kind of strange in its execution. The song is, "This Side of Me" by Savage Garden. The title and one or two lines of the dialogue are inspired by it. I'll tell you which in the bottom A/N.

**Warning:** There are some mature insinuations in this, but as anyone who knows my writing might guess, it's nothing graphic.

**Thanks:** I'm amazed at you guys that continue reading and reviewing these Echoes. Seriously. Kudos to y'all. _**Absentia**_ read this one and helped title it, too, but any grammar/spelling errors are entirely my own. I was too eager to get it out to send it through the proper beta-channels.

**Question:** Are you guys following my 'emsscraps'? I always put up my Review Responses onto there, so if you wonder why I've never replied to a review you've left and you haven't been onto there, that might be why. I never leave a reviewer behind! I swear. You don't have to have an LJ account to see the journals, either, so go on over. Nothing to fear, I swear!

**_Just  
_****_(19: Please Forget About Me)  
_****_By Em_**

_"I can't stop when it comes to you."  
_- Vow, Garbage

_"I wasn't born to lose you…"  
_- I Want You, Bob Dylan

She gasped his name and he smiled against the skin of her neck. "Say it again."

She shivered as she felt the rumble of his voice reverberate on her flesh like a note on a string. "Robin," she breathed.

He could feel her fingers dig into the backs of his shoulder blades. "No one but you calls me that anymore," he said, his words interspersed with kisses, his breath caressing first the side of her jaw, next the space behind her ear, then her lobe.

"You'll always be Robin to me," she answered, breathless.

It was as if he had been waiting for those words from her for years and the choice she made to give him that recognition -- that admission -- went through him like a balm. He stopped for a moment, eyes closed and breath ragged. It was still there, that ever-present need he was overwhelmed by when he wasn't careful, when something unexpectedly reminded him of her all those years they were apart, or if they accidentally touched in the odd moments they met. It was still there, but in the moment that proceeded the knowledge that she thought of him too, that what they once felt so clearly between them hadn't faded, that _he was still Robin to her_, he could think again. Merely this satisfied the need of her; holding her and feeling her pulse beat against him, the warmth of her soft skin against his lips, even if they were still. He inhaled deeply of her and felt calm and complete and whole, even as he knew this was only a temporary reprieve and it would never be enough, he closed his eyes and simply was _there_ with _her_.

He felt her hands slip from his shoulders and then they were on his face, her lithe, nimble fingers touching his jaw, tracing the outline of his cheekbone. She didn't say a word, but he opened his eyes to meet her gaze regardless. They spoke volumes in the silence, the way they always had been able to, and she let him see how much she wanted him as with the same look she reminded him how impossible it was between them.

She touched him softly one last time and started to pull away, but he wouldn't give way. His gaze hardened into determined lines.

"Robin," she said again, this time her tone controlled. "You know we can't."

He looked at her and kissed her lips, pressing her against him, fitting every curve of her body against his. Instead of resisting, she responded to his urgency and his need, for what seemed like a lifetime, and wasn't nearly enough. She broke the kiss, but before she could speak, he did. "I don't care."

She hid her eyes from him, knowing they would give her away and belie whatever she was planning to say. The words they both knew she _had_ to say. "You have to."

Her words gave him pause – and he leaned them both against the wall at her back. Her palms flat against his chest where she had intended to keep him at a distance did not resist as he rested against her, his arms bracing his weight on the wall on either side of her head. "Why?" he whispered, not sure she heard him, even if he spoke the words almost right next to the perfect shell of her ear.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as he banged his fist against the wall, but still, she didn't move, didn't try to get away from him. "Why do we always have to deny ourselves?" he demanded, his voice stronger, the anger he always, _always,_ pushed back and away from him thickening his voice and sharpening his tone.

He leaned back only enough to search her eyes. "Why _not _us?" She was not fooled by his anger. She could see the despair in the depths of his eyes.

A despair mirrored as resigned sadness in her own.

He could see her searching for the way to put in words what neither of them really wanted to face. "It's just the hand we've been dealt," she finally decided.

When he could not argue and simply stared at her in powerless anger, she pushed them off the wall. "Please," she said, the word alien in her usually steady voice as she started to move passed him, expecting him to give way the way he really should. "just forget about me."

He didn't. He couldn't. "I won't," he vowed.

One hand cupping her cheek, he pulled her back to him, capturing her lips in another kiss so gentle and probing, so _loving_ she couldn't resist or pull away.

When they finally broke apart, her voice was choked and breathless as she whispered a helpless, "Robin…" into his ear and his hands traced circles along her spine. He felt the constriction in her throat as she swallowed, felt the weight of the words even before she spoke them, the tears she would never let herself cry. "You have to let me go," she said softly, something too much like pleading in the timbre of the words.

"One time," Robin whispered into her hair. They'd found each other again after all this time, without planning or reason, and he couldn't just let her go. He refused. "Just this one time…" he repeated, one hand pressing flush on her back while the other sought out her arm and traveled lower, tracing the graceful muscles and tendons of her arm until he found the soft pad of her palm, his fingers lingering over the center for a moment before stretching out to lay flush against each of her fingers. "Just this one time let me feel your hand in mine." She opened her hand and he laced his fingers with hers, raising both their hands between them, pressing a kiss to each digit tenderly. "Just this one time," he repeated, as if it were his mantra. "Just tonight…" he looked at her, searched her face, noted the brightness of tears turning her eyes deep purple, "…let me wear the scent of you…"

Then he kissed her, his lips tenderly taking from her lips her acquiescence, her surrender.

"Just this one time…" his free hand took the lone hand still pressing against his chest, the only thing keeping the distance between them and he took it in his, lifting both her hands to press into the wall at her sides. "Let me do what we both want to…" he murmured against her lips.

"Robin," she spoke, breathing in his breath.

"Say yes," he insisted, his body so close to her, his lips toying with hers. "Raven," he breathed. "Just tonight…"

He felt it in her body the moment before the word even left her lips.

"Yes."

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**A/N:** This just felt very sensory to me, and I wanted to keep it down on the dialogue and every word said is something that I could really _'hear'_ in the scene, if that makes sense. I'm sorry for not explaining why they can't be together, but I'll leave that up to your imagination.

The songs that inspired this are primarily, as I said above, "This Side of Me" by Savage Garden. The lines I paraphrased are:

"This one time let my body do what it feels…"

"_I want to feel your hand in mine…"_

"_I want to wear the scent of you / and do all the things you want me to…"_

Initially, I put that song on repeat to write this whole one-shot. Then, after I wrote it, when I went back to tweak it, I was listening to that song as well as:

"I Want You" by Elvis Costello

"Summertime" by Ella Fitzgerald

"Body and Soul" by Diana Krall

"Ne Me Quitte Pas" by Nina Simone

"The Thrill is Gone" by Nina Simone

and

"Abandoned Masquerade" by Diana Krall


	18. 09: Figuring

**A/N:** This one was inspired by a short sort of thing that Abbie (_**Absentia**_ here on ff.n) wrote quite a bit ago. I got permission from Abbie to use what she wrote as a sort of Prologue and then start my story with this as an idea as Chapter 1. Well…I wrote out about 2 or 3 pages of this, and then lost inspiration. Also, I couldn't seem to figure out what all would happen in the rest of the story, although I've got significant scenes thought out. SO…today, I started my opening up old bits of writing to see if anything catches Puck's attention bit, and as I was re-reading what I had already written, I realized that it would fit into the "Figuring" theme of the _**Echoes**_ set very nicely. Also, I got inspired to how to finish the scene, so I did that. And am now presenting it to you.

THIS, unlike most of my other one-shots for these themes, might _**someday**_ be completely fleshed out as a full-out story. However, don't hold your breath for it. Who knows when Puck'll decide what to do with it? (I did, however, the other day figure out how it would end.)

**Special Note to my Readers:** Those of you who follow my other story, _**It Only Takes a Moment**_ must be soo tired of waiting for the next chapter, the ever elusive, _Wishes, II_. It is coming. I will put status updates (and even sneak peaks sometimes) on 'emsscraps', but the update here, for those that are interested is as follows: I've had one of my betas give me their feedback. The other one is giving it to me in increments and I've been assured that a third is still working on it. I have yet to hear from one, but as soon as I get edits from at least two betas, I'll post it up. I'm sorry it's been so long!

_**Congratulations****  
(09: Figuring)  
by Em**_

"_Footfalls echo in the memory / Down the passage which we did not take / Towards the door we never opened…"_  
- T.S. Eliot

The funny thing about it all was that in those days, he really had no idea at all about anything. Back then, the moments stretched into hours, those into days and days into months and years. He took them all for granted, this warmth, this collection of time that slipped by. If it had even occurred to him that it all might one day end...

Would he have been able to appreciate each one more? Would he have found some way of engraving the particular feel of her hand brushing his or manage to memorize the precise scent of her hair?

He'd never been able to find a perfume to match her scent, no arms he had ever felt around him, no skin he ever pressed against his own had the softness of the briefest press of her hand on his arm as she passed and there was never any material that provided the warmth of her that lingered on his palm whenever he touched her.

How could he not have known it then?

How could he have not _known_ it the very moment their eyes met for the first time and his breath caught? How could a moment so utterly life changing pass by without so much as a hint of it's importance?

How could he _not_ have known that the reason he felt no qualms about telling her everything he was, letting her into his deepest, most painful self was due to more than friendship? How could her very presence have become so absolutely important to him without him having a clue as to why? He had thought he was more intuitive than that, more perceptive. Obviously, he wasn't.

He thought, even now, that he could remember bits of her voice, and in silent stillness of the dark just before the dawn, he heard the whisper of her words ghost across his memories, _"You have to trust me."(1)_

But then some other sound, a siren perhaps or another's voice -- an alarm-- sounded and the ephemeral memory scattered and was gone and he was certain he couldn't possibly remember the right pitch of her voice. That oh-so-particular timbre to her words and the unspoken quality of her silences were lost to him, even from his nearly eidetic memory.

He remembered times when he was so close to realization, but for some reason it never dawned. There was the time with Malchior when he'd tempered the sudden rage and possessiveness with reason, and the time he credited his primal awareness of her state of danger as they fell through the elevator shaft as nothing more than quick reflexes instead of the truth: that he was just always aware of her. He remembered the time he tried so hard to save her from Slade's grip on her birthday. He remembered the relief he felt when he managed to catch her in his arms and save her from the fall. He remembered looking into her eyes as she woke...

He remembered how very much he wished he knew the right thing to say when she was so obviously troubled by the impending arrival of her father. He was on the very verge of realization when he had watched her, helpless, as she was sacrificed to her father's rage. He had screamed out only one word, only 'no' because there were so many others clamoring for attention. _'No, don't give up!'_ and _'No! We can beat this!' _or _'No! Stay and fight!'_ and _'No! Don't go away!'_

If only he'd known how to say what was really in his heart.

In retrospect, it was simple. Three words: _'Don't leave me'_. Or, simpler, deeper still: _'I love you.'_

But he hadn't known those words then. He had busied himself with being friend and comforting Starfire who was losing a sister, with being leader and trying to think of a plan, a way to stop what was happening even then. In the end, all his worrying and thinking did was stop him from wondering why he was so desperate, why he felt as if he were loosing a part of himself, why he felt as if the very flesh were being torn from his skin.

He would survive without her, he knew that, but why should he?

Later, when he awoke, before wondering what had happened, he remembered, clearly, wondering why he had survived when she had not. No one questioned him when he was so certain that Raven was still alive somewhere, they hadn't had time, and so he never questioned himself...not until later. No one questioned why he felt absolutely no qualms about going with his greatest enemy for any chance to save her. And he had been too focused on saving her and averting any possible betrayal by Slade to wonder why without their questions.

When Slade told him that he might not like what he found if he did manage to find her at all, he didn't even have to think about his answer. It was easy to say he would take his chances because he wouldn't have cared if all Slade had offered him was a chance to see her one more time, no matter how fleeting.

When _had_ he realized it? He couldn't be sure, only that going through hell with his worst enemy gave him time to really consider. But it wasn't until she came into her full power against her father, when she was floating ten feet off the concrete, long purple hair blowing in the wind of her power that every fiber of his being was flooded with the emotion so that he could hardly deny it or hide from it any longer.

He loved Raven.

He probably always had.

If life were a fairy tale that would have been the point when they'd have kissed and lived happily every after, but no one's life wasn't any sort of fairy tale and not theirs especially, and although she did hug him, their lips never met.

And if he knew he loved Raven when he saw her face off against her father, when she hugged him, he figured out, _finally_ figured out, that he always would.

But relief and joy gave him a way to mask his realization, a way to keep it hidden under his cape and pretend nothing had changed until he could pull it out in a quieter moment to analyze it and dissect it, figure out its origins and its depth. Figure out what to do with it.

When he figured out the name for his feelings, it changed little, however. He was so used to feeling the way he did for her, that calling it love did nothing to shake his perception of the world or of her.

And in the end, what he came to realize was that loving Raven was never a problem. Loving her was like breathing, he did it without thinking about it, he treated her the same as he always had, careful and attentive, but she never figured it out on her end. For years, he wasn't certain that was a bad thing...

Years passed and he was content. He knew he wasn't happy, but content was enough. And as they grew older and more jaded, he though he was certain that it was better if she never knew, never figured out how much of his well being depended on her being close enough to talk to every day, close enough to see and share a look, even if it was across a room teeming with others. It was better that way, because if she knew, it would hurt. One way or another, it would hurt. He was protecting not only himself, but also their friendship by dating other women, even if they meant nothing to him.

But in the end, she left anyway.

Whenever he thought about it, he wondered if she'd figured it out. If she'd left because he did something to give away how much he needed her around, but he knew she wasn't that cruel. He never asked her why she left, anyway. Just in case.

One year turned into another and he kept no count of them, simply lived day-to-day, fight-to-fight. He saw her occasionally, heard about her even more rarely, and fought off the desire to go to her every moment.

And then she came to him.

~0~

"Hello, Richard."

He didn't bother to hide his surprise, and he didn't think to hide that he was happy to see her. "Raven," he greeted, coming into the room and removing his mask. "You haven't lost your touch, I see," he half-joked.

She looked at his apartment, where she had been waiting. "I thought if I had to wait outside, I'd lose my nerve for sure," she admitted. "At least in here, I knew you'd know I was here even if I left before you got back."

"Would you have?" he asked. "Left before I got back?"

"It was sketchy there for a bit," she almost smiled.

"You look good," he said after a few moments of silence.

She absently smoothed the material of her pants at her thighs and pulled on the bottom edge of the blouse. "I was in a meeting all day near to Blüdhaven, then I drove straight here rather than lose my nerve."

He motioned for her to sit down and he took the seat across from her when she did. "So, what brings you here, then?" He cocked his head at her, "I doubt its business."

"No," she agreed. "Definitely not business."

She reached into her purse sitting next to her elbow, he hadn't even noticed it there, and pulled out a small white envelope. She pushed it across the table to him. He glanced at it and saw his name and address on it in her neat, deliberate hand.

"Run out of stamps, Rae?" he asked, looking from it to her, but not reaching for it.

"You were my best friend for many years, Richard," she said and he tried not to flinch at her use of the past tense. He didn't kid himself that she would still consider him her best friend; too much time had passed between them. "I couldn't just put it in the mail."

"So you want to tell me or should I wait to open it or what?" he asked.

"It's an invitation," she said. "And an announcement." She looked at it as if she herself couldn't remember what it said and had to look for clues in the fine weave of the bone white envelope. She looked up to meet his eyes. "I'm getting married."

_~0~_

And of all the things that went through his mind, the only one that made it passed his lips was, "Oh."

"Oh?" Raven raised a brow and her voice was suddenly, achingly, _resolutely_ light. "I come all the way here, go through the trouble to commit breaking and entering, and all you can say is 'oh'?" She did that almost smile thing she did. "It's customary to say 'best wishes' to the bride or at the very least 'congratulations.'"

"Congratulations," he said and didn't know how the word made it past the numbness creeping over him. And in some part of his mind, he understood that numbness was good. It would keep him from saying things it was obviously too late to say.

"You don't have to look as if I'd just told you that Garfield had won a Pulitzer," she chided. He met her eyes and she looked down, "Is it so hard to believe someone would ask me to marry them?" she asked.

"No," he spoke, still serious. "I suppose it's hard to believe you said yes."

She met his eyes, something like disbelief on her expression. "You don't even know who it is I'm marrying."

"Doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head, the shock wearing off enough to allow him to think.

"Why not?" she asked, and it was as if he could see the shutters coming down over her emotions, could feel the way she tip toed through her oh-so-vast vocabulary to find words careful enough to give nothing away.

He thought about it for a few moments. "We're too much alike," he finally answered.

"You're right. We are a lot alike in many ways. But just because you've decided not to give your heart to any one person, doesn't mean I'm like you there."

"I gave it to you," he said.

She smiled a little sadly. "Giving it to someone who is just a friend doesn't count," she said. He raised a brow questioningly and she sighed. "It's not enough."

He was suddenly angry, and he wasn't altogether certain at whom. "Do you love him?" he asked.

Again, he saw the careful deliberation behind her eyes, and knew that whatever answer she gave wouldn't be the whole truth – knew, too, that perhaps he hadn't asked the right question.

"Yes," she answered slowly, deliberately. "I do."

He realized then he still hadn't asked (and she hadn't told him) who it was she was marrying. He wondered briefly about it, then decided he didn't care. He had not been lying or flippant when he told her it didn't matter. It really didn't. He'd feel the same no matter _who_ she was marrying.

"You're retiring for good, then?" he asked, because he couldn't ask what he really wanted to know – he couldn't seem to figure out how to ask it.

"I think so, yes," she answered. She was making an effort to take the conversation away from the edge of the polite, when she continued, "I'll be around if I'm needed, of course, but I—" she cut herself off when he looked at her again. "This was never meant to be my life, I think."

"You always wanted more," he confirmed. "I remember."

She nodded, looking at him for the first time, as if she actually thought she might recognize him. "Yes."

He looked away again, down at the envelope in front of him, but couldn't bring himself to touch it. "I wanted more too."

She sighed, a soft sound he almost missed when a siren blared suddenly and momentarily outside his window. "I know," she said. He felt her eyes searching him, and compelled to look at her, he did. "Why didn't you try to get it?" she asked, as if she had been wondering it for a very long time.

"I could never figure out how," he answered, quite honestly.

She looked sad, suddenly, as if he had just confirmed something she had feared might be true. "All you had to do was take it, Robin," she said.

He didn't know how to answer her, didn't know what to say. He had a sickening feeling she might be talking about more than just about being heroes versus having a life, he looked into those deep pools of violet and had a stomach-turning epiphany that she was talking about them.

She didn't have to say anymore, so she stood up, grabbing her purse, almost smiling again, but it never reached her eyes. "I hope you'll come."

And then, with all her usual grace, she stepped into the hallway outside his apartment and closed the door with a soft click behind her.

It wasn't until he heard the distant ding of the elevator at the end of the hall that he made himself open the envelope, remove the card and search the beautifully embossed words.

_Ms. Rachel Roth and Mr. Roy Harper request the pleasure of your company at their wedding…_

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

**Notes:**

(1) Season 3, Episode 5, "Haunted"

**A/N:** To be completely honest with you, if I ever make this a long story, I'm not convinced yet if I'll make it be Roy who she's marrying, or someone not involved in the Titans. That is going to depend in part on what I want some of the focus to be on, but I can't explain too much without giving away some of the ideas I've got for this as a long story, so y'all will have to trust me, that if it becomes a long story it might not be Roy, but someone not a Titan at all.


	19. 17: Revenge

**A/N:** True to **_Echoes_** form, I don't know what the hell's going on in this one. I don't know what's happening, or why they need Robin, or what happened five years ago beyond what I mention in the fic. Here's another "make up your own ideas" opportunity for you, kiddies. I hope you enjoy!

Not Beta'd.

**Warning**: I don't know that I think either character in this is exactly "in character". (shrug). It's just the way that it came, and as you know if you've been following these "Echoes" I don't question them. (sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.)

**_Hate  
(17: Revenge)  
by Em_**

_"We can watch the world devoured in its hate..."_  
- The End Is The Beginning, Smashing Pumkins

Richard waited for the older man to say what he intended to say because he knew he couldn't stop him. He couldn't even really avoid him, so he sat quietly through the man's monologue, only half-listening. And when he seemed he had finished and was waiting for Richard to speak, Richard only had one thing to say. "So?"

The tall man had expected resistance, anger even, but this apathy was unanticipated. "We need you."

"I don't do this kind of work anymore," he stated blandly. "or didn't you get the memo?"

"This is more than any of can handle alone, Richard -- we need everyone we can get."

He looked up at him. "Maybe you hadn't noticed, but we no longer hold the same ideology." The mocking undertone to his words couldn't have been mistaken as proof of anything but the cold derision they were. "I won't fight for your cause. I'm done," he emphasized.

"Does the world have to suffer because of our difference of opinion?" the other man asked in an all too sensible voice.

It was that voice, that tone, those words that ripped through whatever restraint he had left and he laughed. "_Difference of opinion_?" he asked, half under his breath. "You really have developed quite a sense of humor, Superman," he said, turning his back on the alien. He would've walked away, but the was stopped by the man of steel's hand on his forearm.

"I am serious, Richard."

He whirled on him, fury shining from his eyes. "So am I," he bit out. "Dead serious," he assured him. "And from where I stand, you brought this on yourselves," and the hatred in his eyes was unmistakeable. He waited for Superman to see it, recognize it before speaking again. "The world can burn for all I care."

"I know you still haven't forgiven us for what happened five years ago--"

"You can't even say it, can you?" Richard asked. "You allude to it in general terms, call it a _'difference of opinion,' _but you can't call it by its name..." his eyes hardened into blue fire, "I'll say it, Superman," he assured him. "Five years ago, Raven died in _your_ service and _you_ made her out to be the villain, you _let _the world betray her and cheered them on when they turned their backs on her, all because it suited your purposes." With a quick twist, he wrenched his arm out of the grip Superman never held too tightly and once again turned his back on the world's savior to walk away.

"Richard."

"You could've saved her, Superman," Richard said quietly, knowing Superman didn't need him to speak any louder than a whisper. "_You_ could have," he turned to watch the complete lack of expression on the older man's chiseled features. "But you didn't even try -- " he continued. "You never trusted her, did you?" he asked and then, because he didn't need a reply, he continued, "None of you did." When the older man remained silent, Richard spoke again. "She never could've done enough to prove herself to you, could she?" he asked, but he didn't expect to get a reply to that question either. He scoffed, turning away. "Not even die it seems."

When Superman spoke, Richard wasn't really surprised with the words he had chosen.

"And do you have to punish the whole world for _our_ sins?" Superman asked, his voice deep and quiet.

There was silence for a long while as Richard looked at the city, teeming with life beneath them. "If I wanted to punish anyone, there are more satisfying ways to do it."

And his voice said exactly how many of those ways he had considered and Superman realized just how close they had come to having Batman's apprentice as an enemy.

_xxxxxxx_

**A/N**: See what I mean? I don't know. I can tell you that the initial idea for this was thought up after I saw the initial trailer for "The Watchmen" (which, I still haven't seen the movie itself), but I was mesmerized by the music, and then I saw it again to try and figure out what the song was ("The End Is The Beginning" by Smashing Pumpkins, a new mix, it sounds like) and my imagination was caught by a line said as an voice over, I don't know who says it, but it's this line: "The world will look up and shout, 'save us' and I'll whisper, 'No.'"

And I kicked around the idea of this for a long while, then I forgot it, then I heard the song again as I was doing something else, and a bit of dialogue took over my head, and I wrote it down. And then, as always happens, I "finished" it, and I thought...hm...this kind of reads like it might work for "Echoes". And I think it does.

What do you guys think?


	20. 26: Yellow Tulip Hopeless Love

**A/N:** This is another one of those that just sort of hit me. The Tulip is my personal favorite flower, and I didn't know that until the first Spring I spent in New Orleans and took a drive down St. Charles Avenue, and saw all the mansions in the Garden District bedecked with tulip beds in all different colors. It gladdened my heart, every time, and made me smile. So, when I saw that this was one of the themes, I just thought I had to make the tulips Raven's favorite flower too.

The rest came relatively easily and quickly. True to **_Echoes_** form, I guess.

**Thanks:** To everyone that keeps reviewing this stuff...I'll respond individually through review response feature if I've got something to say, 'kay? Otherwise, I huggle you all.

_**Interlude  
****(26: Yellow Tulip; Hopeless Love)  
By Em**_

"_If I had the chance, love / I would not hesitate / To tell you all the things I'd never said before..."_  
- Sarah McLachlan, Dirty Little Secret

He had known her for four years before he found out that her favorite flower was the tulip.

He probably would never have found out, either, if it hadn't been for that case they took in San Francisco in early April. All five of them hadn't been required (it was a relatively simple case where the San Fransisco P.D. wanted them to consult on the possibility that some recent crimes committed in Golden Gate Park had been committed by meta-humans) so only he and Raven had gone. As they closed the case, he and Raven had taken a moment, upon Robin's suggestion, to explore the park and had stumbled upon the Queen Wilhelmina Tulip Garden. It had taken him all of five seconds to recognize the look on Raven's apparently impassive (it was never impassive and Robin knew that).

Years later, he still remembered that day: remembered how she had wandered among the colorful array of tulips, gazing at them with barely disguised wonder; how she had confessed as they sat on a conveniently placed bench in front of a span of orange-red tulips that tulips had been her favorite flower since she saw a picture of them in full bloom in Denmark. She hadn't given him a reason, but he hadn't needed one. He remembered, most of all, how being there in the bright sun, surrounded by green and so much color with Raven next to him had seemed like one of those rare moments of perfection that life offered you only rarely.

They hadn't taken the offered tour of the gardens, preferring to explore at their own pace. If they had taken the tour, however, they probably would have been told about the old Victorian tradition of assigning meaning to flowers. They weren't, though, and he himself didn't learn about it until years later, sitting in front of his computer, researching places to buy tulips out of season.

He didn't think she knew about the deeper meaning to the yellow tulip he sent her on the anniversary of the day they met. He wasn't even certain she'd know why he'd thought to send her anything at all on that day in particular. She probably wouldn't remember that the day was anything special, and it had been nearly a year since the Titans had disbanded - nearly a year since the last time he'd seen her.

She probably wouldn't remember that day, might not understand why he'd sent her anything at all, and probably didn't know the double meaning to the yellow tulip delivered to her doorstep...

But it didn't matter. If she remembered that afternoon they spent amidst the tulips and smiled, that was enough.

_xxxxx_

**A/N:** Yes, it's short. I know. But these **_Echoes_** tend to be that way sometimes, don't they? I swear, Puck takes absolutely NO cues from me on these. So...whaddya guys think?


	21. 20: Diary

**A/N:** Wow. I hate to admit this to you guys, but I thought that maybe my writing had dried up inside me somewhere the muse couldn't get to it. I kept having ideas for stories (for all sorts of fandoms) but nothing was insisting so much that I had to write it down, and nothing was coming for the TT stories I'd already started!

And then, this one!

No one's beta'd this, and I might be a little rusty, so bear with me, k?

**Thanks:** To EVERYONE who keeps reviewing and favoriting my work and sending me PMs asking me if I'm dead or planning on resurrecting or what and keeping hope that I might.

A very special thanks to the usual suspects who have never really given up on me, despite having complicated lives drawing their attention, and notably to _**GuardianKysra**_, whose birthday it was yesterday. (Well, the 24th - it's 2:15 am here on the 26th, so maybe this'll show up as being posted on the 26th, so I want no confusion).

Also, a special shout out to _**LeighAidan**_ on deviantArt, who sent me a note on there that had me misting up. Thanks for letting me know.

_**Chronicle**_  
_**(20: Diary)**_  
_**By Em**_

_"Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us."_  
_- Oscar Wilde, "The Importance of Being Earnest"_

_July 26, 7:15 am_

Robin has offered to make me breakfast, again. I refused, again.

One would think he doesn't realize that I never eat anything heavier than a piece of plain toast with my tea this early in the morning. One might even think that he has not realized that despite my early waking hours (or, perhaps, because of them), I am not a morning person.

He does know, however. Of course, he knows.

I doubt there is very much that escapes his observation.

He knows I don't eat breakfast. I have no doubt about that.

What a useless habit of his to offer to make me breakfast, nonetheless.

I realize that trying to figure out why he does things like that would probably be about as futile an effort as Beast Boy trying to get me to play Stankball.

He must have been running simulations outside this morning - his hair is wet, and he hasn't gotten around to styling it yet.

_July 28, 4:25 pm_

"That dog won't hunt."

Cyborg said that today when we were discussing possible additions to the East Wing of the Tower. Robin had suggested making it into an emergency command center, but Cyborg vetoed the idea and backed it up with technical reasons why the East Wing wouldn't work.

Even though he made very good arguments, I was left with no choice but to speak up when Robin continued to argue the merits of the idea.

He was very stubborn. Sometimes, it seems to me that Robin argues with Cyborg just for the sake of it.

He saw reason when I mentioned that the East Wing did not appear to me to be logistically sound as an emergency base, since it was facing one of our more vulnerable sides.

Cyborg later made a comment to me about how Robin never seems to listen to reason except when it comes from me; I think Cyborg just does not understand how to reason with Robin.

Cyborg said "that dog won't hunt" was something his grandmother used to say all the time when he was growing up.

My grandmother abandoned my mother. The Batman told me this years later.

She's dead now.

I do not think I care what she used to say.

_July 30, 11:20 am_

Robin has given me a leather bound journal. He's noticed that this book I write in now is almost completely used.

Alfred gave me this book days after I first arrived on Earth. He told me that just because I did not go around verbalizing every thought I had did not mean that I did not need a place to keep them.

He is a very astute man; I sometimes miss him.

I am glad Robin asked if I would come with him to Gotham today.

He calls it an anniversary.

I never would have thought to celebrate the anniversary of my having come to Earth, but Robin has done it every year, and neither Bruce nor Alfred seem surprised to see us on their doorstep and I am certainly glad to see them.

Alfred at least.

Even after four years, I am still apprehensive around Bruce. I fear I shall always feel small and like a child whenever I am near him.

I doubt this stems merely from the difference in our stature, no matter that this is what Robin believes.

I am rather used to being a short kind of girl.

Even Robin has grown to be almost a full head and shoulders taller than me now.

_July 31, 6:20 pm_

It's rained the entire day we've been in Gotham. Robin says this is nothing strange for this time of year, making comments about how Gotham insists on being gloomy even in the full bloom of summer, as if the city herself were some kind of living entity.

Great. Even I'm doing it now.

It's still coming down hard outside the window of the lavish suite Alfred always gives me whenever I come to the Manor, but I am even now waiting on Robin to finish his shower; he has insisted that he was taking me out to dinner.

I don't particularly mind the rain, really, but Alfred is not pleased.

Somehow, rain is always associated when I remember my time in Gotham. I think, perhaps, it was raining the first time I met Robin all those years ago.

It would make sense if this type of precipitation is common at this time of year.

I wonder what Alfred would say if he knew Robin planned on taking one of the motorcycles?

That phrase I learned from Beast Boy not too long ago comes to mind: having kittens.

_August 1, 5:53 am_

I am sitting on the stairs to the Manor, writing this by the faint glow of the rising sun on the horizon, waiting for Robin.

I woke up from an unsettling dream where I was running after something that kept pushing further and further away from me, with the disconcerting feeling that it was not my dream.

When I went to the window, Robin was jogging down the path below my window and disappearing into the copious woods along the side of the property.

That was an hour ago.

And so I wait.

Robin and I had an argument yesterday.

It was after dinner, and the rain had let up and we were walking along that broad stretch of road where restaurants and theaters litter the sidewalk.

The argument broke over us like a sudden storm, and before I knew it, it was too late. In retrospect, I could not say what started it.

He had been quiet and withdrawn on the ride back to the Manor and left me at the door, disappearing into the recesses of the house that despite my relative familiarity with it, I could not follow him down.

I don't think I wanted to, either.

Now, I wait.

Frustration, not anger.

That's what I felt last night.

And as often happens between us, I couldn't tell if it was his frustration or mine I was feeling - perhaps both.

I can feel him approaching, and a glance up confirms his silhouette walking toward me.

_August 4, 1:50 am_

It occurs to me that the only way to learn anything about Robin is by long-term scrutiny. For example, taken individually, none of my previous entries detailing bits and pieces of collected information would lead anyone (even myself) to any sort of general observations. Taken together, however, as I flip through the pages of this journal as I write what will be the final entry in this book, a picture begins to become clear.

I suppose that I make this observation now only in a way to somehow appease myself that without taking all the pieces together, there was no way I could have realized what I am realizing by a study of the picture as a whole.

Nothing much has changed in the three days since Robin confessed to me his truth that he has carried around for what he has told me is years.

Years.

The evidence of it is here - chronicled in the pages of my journal, in my own hand. Looking at it in a big picture sort of way, I cannot help but see it; all the little ways in which Robin dominated my life, how he insinuated himself into my waking thoughts.

Every entry, he is there. Even during times I was away from the Tower - away from him - there is something Robin said, or something Robin did, or something someone asked me about Robin or something that reminded me of something he had said.

I suppose it is true that nothing has really changed; not in the day-to-day activities of our group, in any case.

But looked at microscopically, the differences show.

Can no one else see how closely he stands to me when it is our turn to do the dishes after dinner?

How he sits next to me on the couch, much closer than the available space requires?

The way he looks at me when our hands happen to touch.

Do I look at him the same way?

Is it his hand that lingers on mine or my fingers that linger in his hand?

Everything has changed.

I almost hate him for it.

Or, I would, if I could.

I can feel him smiling in my head.

Or, perhaps that's just me.


	22. 24: Remembrance

**A/N:** So, hi! Yes, I am posting something new! (You see how inspiration happens?)

_Anyway_...

This deserves a little explanation as to the timeline this shot takes place in. Those die-hard Teen Titans fans might be a bit confused and see elements of things that have happened in both the Comics and the Cartoons and things that you can't tell where I pulled it out of.

Frankly, I pulled everything out of my...imagination. I'd been told several different factors about Raven and Robin's lives after the Teen Titans, and some things about New Titans and stuff like that, and these random and maybe incorrectly conjoined facts just sort of congealed into this story you have here.

So, just assume that this is in the future where neither Raven nor Robin are living in Titan Tower as Titans any longer and there is a new young team of Titans in their place and that for some reason, both Raven and Robin have been called back to the Tower. (Whether any of the others was also called back you can imagine at your leisure).

Those of you that have been with me for awhile are familiar with the fact that I tend to do this kind of mixing and matching of true cannon with fanon and my own imaginings, so it shouldn't be too much of a surprise.

What I mean to say then, is that any and all inaccuracies, inconsistencies, and allegedly blatant canonical errors are entirely my doing. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

**Thanks:** Especially to **_Toboe Lonewolf, Marie R._** and _**Kysra**_ for beta'ing this for me. **_Chi Yagami_** also answered my general distress call for betas, but since I'm going to have a really busy weekend and know not when I'll be able to get back to the computer in order to post this, I decided to go ahead and post before getting her input. After I get her input, I'll probably be amending this and reposting!

_**Dreams for Plans  
(24: Remembrance)  
by Em**_

"_Can you tell me how it used to be? / Have we missed our chance? / Have we changed our hopes for fears / And our dreams for plans?"  
_- "Dreams for Plans," Shakira

The Tower was silent, the young ones long asleep, with only the hum of the machinery a distant comfort in the undercurrent of the city glittering in the distance.

She found him, as she knew she would, on the roof, facing the north, toward the city, as if waiting for something she had never figured out. She couldn't say when he realized she was there, but it didn't matter. She took the time to search his man's silhouette for a shadow of the boy she had known, and he let her.

It wasn't until her keen eyes found him (there, hidden or pushed aside or suppressed, underneath years of experiences) that she stepped forward, the vision clearing and coming into focus, sharpening, like an autofocus of a camera lens just before the flash. There he was – her Robin – in the tilt of his chin, the way he pressed his lips together as he thought, the way his hands fell at his sides in calm repose, while the tension sang through every muscle, every sinew, even at rest. He was there, the boy she had loved, but like a distant shape hidden in the broader shoulders, the defined muscles hiding the gangliness of youth.

He was there; but Robin, she realized, was only one shadow among many that made up Nightwing.

He waited until she stood alongside him to speak. "Did you find him?"

His voice wasn't so much a shock as it had been the first time she heard this older, deeper, rougher timbre, but the intimacy in the moment made the difference starker somehow, like an overdeveloped film – one image overlapping over the other, appearing ghostly and wrong.

"Pieces," she answered when she realized he wouldn't look at her, no matter how much she stared at him. And in typical Raven fashion, she offered no more. And for a long while, they were silent, listening to the waves on the shore, the distant sound of sirens, a plane flying far overhead.

Atypically, Raven broke that silence first.

"What's become of us?" she asked, her voice so low she might have thought he hadn't heard her over the crash of the waves.

He didn't look at her, but she could tell he'd heard her.

"It took us all coming back together to make me realize it," she started, "but something's wrong –" she shook her head and looked back toward the door that led into the Tower, the place she'd called home for so much of her life – of her youth. "This isn't how it was supposed to be, is it?" she asked. When he still didn't answer, she turned back to him. "Are you where you thought you would end up?" she stared at him, willing him to turn to her, to speak.

"Where did you think you'd end up?" he asked.

He was trying to dodge the question, it seemed to her, and the girl she'd been would never have let the boy he was get away with something like that. But, ever since the moment she looked up at the door and saw him in the room several hours before, their interaction had been strange and alien, so she let him. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. She sighed. "After my sixteenth birthday, everything was unplanned – I never knew what I wanted to be, except that I–" she trailed off.

"What?" he asked.

She stopped looking at his profile, couldn't bear it, and turned back to the glittering lights of the city. "I suppose I had dreams."

"And now you don't?" he asked.

"Do you?" she countered.

"I have plans," he answered.

"Not the same thing," she insisted. "I know where I'm going in my life, but I can't help but wonder if that's where I dreamt I would be going."

"Where did you dream you'd be going?" he asked logically.

She turned to him again and held her tongue just in time. "Can you tell me?" she asked softly. "You always used to know me so well…"

"I remember," he started slowly and finally, _finally_, looked at her. "I remember how you used to love to read on this roof on crisp Fall days," he said. "I'd catch you sometimes when you'd put the book down and raise your face up to the sun and close your eyes, as if you were soaking it in."

"I never knew," she admitted.

"I wouldn't disturb you," he explained.

"I remember the first time I finally understood the look on your face as you stared out at the city at night from the roof," she spoke. He waited, so she explained. "You looked proud – you were proud of the city."

"It was my city," he said.

"Are you proud of Bludhaven?" she asked.

He laughed, but the sound was bitter and mocking, and nothing like the joyful free sound she was used to coming from him. "Bludhaven isn't a place to be proud of," he answered finally. "And it isn't my city," he added as an afterthought.

"Then, what is it?" she asked.

He seemed to think about it. "My penance."

She wanted to ask him what he thought he was making penance for; she wanted to tell him that no matter what it was he thought he needed to make penance for, it couldn't be as bad as she could feel he thought it was, but she didn't.

"I remember the day Victor finished building this place," she mused, turning her back on the city and looking, instead, around her at the roof. Not much had changed since their time here.

"I remember it, too," he confessed. "I remember you laughed at one of Beast Boy's jokes."

She whirled on him, the expression on her face clearly shocked even if it was only in the widening of her eyes and the slight downward turn of her lips. "I did not," she argued.

He smiled and it seemed to surprise him. "You did," he assured her.

"You must have imagined it," she countered.

"We all saw it and commented on it," he remarked.

"Obviously a mass hallucination," she deadpanned.

The light of the smile left his face, even as she watched. "I remember the day you died."

She sighed and turned away. "Must you?" she asked.

She felt it when he turned his gaze away from her. "I'm sorry."

His words surprised her the way she thought nothing ever could anymore. "For what?" she asked.

"I couldn't keep the Robin you knew alive," he spread his hands in front of him and lowered his gaze to the black leather of his gloves.

Raven stopped herself just before reaching out for him. "Change is part of life, Richard," she said instead.

He nodded and turned away again. For awhile, they were quiet.

"I had dreams, too," he said, his voice low.

"Had?" she asked softly.

"I don't dream anymore."

"What did you dream?" she asked, looking at him.

"I had a lot of them when I was young and idealistic and stupid," he confessed.

"Idealistic, yes," she allowed. "Young, obviously," she continued. "But I'd never call you stupid."

He turned his gaze upwards, tracking the flight of an errant bird in the sky. He didn't answer her. "What were your dreams, Raven?" he asked, instead.

"After my sixteenth birthday, I had a whole slew of them," she admitted. "Probably because before then, I didn't dare."

"So?" he prodded. "One?"

She was quiet for awhile. Finally, she sighed. "I used to dream of having a little two-storied house in a suburb somewhere," she admitted. "It would be painted white, with blue curtains and flower boxes in the front windows, a big yard for a dog or two, those great big fluffy ones that like to run and play, and I'd have an herb garden and–" she cut herself off and closed her mouth with an audible click.

"Married with a devoted husband and 2.5 kids running about painting happy homes in bright colored crayons to display proudly on the fridge door," he finished.

It was her turn to laugh then, and even she could hear how little mirth was in it. "See?" she said, swallowing past the surprise in her throat. "You always could read me." He always could...except where it counted.

"And now?" he asked instead.

"It was an impossible dream from inception, Richard," she said blandly. "I knew that even then."

He wanted to argue with her, but he knew she'd see right through it. "I never thought to wonder whether any other Titan ever dreamed about being normal."

She scoffed lightly and kept her sight fixedly on the skyline. "You thought you were the only one that wondered what life would've been like if..." she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"If my parents hadn't died," he finished for her.

She nodded crisply. "If my mother hadn't been raped, if a drunken kid hadn't run a red light and smashed into the Stone family vehicle, if a young kid hadn't been bitten by a green monkey and his parents hadn't had to make a hasty decision to save him..." she trailed off again and sighed. "If...if...if..."

"I probably would've never had the white picket fence and yard and all that, you know," he said into the descending silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Raven turn to look at him, so he turned to face her. "If my parents hadn't died, I would've grown up in the circus," he mused. "I suppose, even if they hadn't been killed, I still never would've been what one would call normal."

Surprisingly, she smiled. "At least your costume would've fit in there."

His lips quirked and he shook his head. "Never gonna let that one drop, are you?" he asked on a sigh.

"No," she answered simply.

He exhaled and looked back at the city, but he really thought that was all right by him. "I don't think I ever had dreams," he admitted after a while. "Not like that, anyway." He glanced at Raven and saw her intention to argue with him, so he spoke up. "I think what I had more were fantasies, you know?" he explained. "I never really thought I'd get them, not even in a far off possibility." He shrugged.

"Like what?" she prodded. He looked at her, so she clarified. "Your fantasies."

"Oh, I suppose not so different from yours, really," he said. "Except I wanted to live in the country somewhere with a few acres of land around and beautiful hills in the distance that I could see from my window and where my kids could play in a nearby pond and have a tire swing from the old oak tree in the back yard and where I could sit on a porch swing and sip lemonade on cool nights."

"You'd raise sheep, I suppose," Raven said after awhile.

Robin turned to her and was surprised into laughter. "Did I make fun of yours?" he questioned.

Raven turned to him, all seriousness. "I was not making fun," she insisted. "I simply wanted to get a complete picture and if you're on a farm..." she trailed off.

He shook his head. "I did say it wasn't a dream so much as a fantasy, didn't I?" he reminded her. "So, it isn't exactly complete or accurate," he shrugged. "Sue me."

"In that case, I suppose your wife looked like June Cleaver, always had dinner on the table at 6 and brought you your slippers and pipe every night so you could read the paper by the fire."

He shook his head. "I never did like the June Cleaver type."

"Maybe if she'd been a red-head."

Robin looked at her and raised a brow, but she was unapologetic.

"Are you going to deny that one?" Raven pressed.

"Well, I'd find it hard to figure that any of the goth types you fell for fit in with your blue curtains and white picket fence," he mused.

"Who ever said I _fell _for _them_?" she asked vaguely.

He raised his other brow. "You were certainly happy enough to date them."

She raised her right shoulder in an elegant imitation of a shrug. "That was the type that wasn't too scared to ask me out, I suppose." She slid him a glance and quirked her own brow. "And don't think I haven't realized how you switched this over to me," she looked away again.

"Just humoring me, I suppose."

"Hm," she confirmed.

He was looking around the roof of the Tower himself by then and felt an almost dizzying wave of nostalgia – his vision blurring for a moment and echoes of their laughter and games and arguments seeping from the stones.

"We had some good times," he said, before he realized he was going to speak.

"More than that," she admitted. "You saved me," she said into the silence that followed. "And not just because you went after me after my father appeared, and not in any of the other obvious ways all of you were always there to support me when I needed it," she thought about it a moment. "Living every day with you..." she turned to him and her eyes uncannily found his, even despite the mask. "With _all_ of you," she amended after a moment. "I'd never had that kind of normalcy..." she nodded, and shifted, just slightly, the white of her cape coming forward to cover her body. "Every day I lived with all of you – it gave me the strength to..." she trailed off and sighed, shaking her head, as if having trouble finding the words. "..._live_."

Before he could think of what to say, she started to walk away.

He reached out and took her hand, no less shocked at his action than she obviously was when she turned back to look at him.

"In each of my fantasies," he said, his voice quiet and sincere, "the person sitting on that porch with me, watching the sunset and watching our kids play..." he watched her searching his face, felt it as her breath caught. "...it was you."

She didn't move out of his grasp the way he had half-expected her to. Instead, she turned around to face him fully and slowly lifted a hand to his cheek, her thumb gently caressing the stubble on his chin. "I would've moved to the country," she said softly, nodding before letting her hand slide off his cheek.

She took a step back from him and he released his hold on her wrist, letting it slide slowly from his grasp, hesitating as their fingers touched. Her lips twisted into a sad smile before she turned and walked to the door that led back into the Tower. In the threshold, however, she paused and looked at him over her shoulder.

"I would've insisted on the big fluffy dog, though," she said, "and no sheep."

Despite himself, he found himself smirking as she stepped into the Tower and the door slid closed behind her. "Kids need pets," he mused, turning back to the skyline, realizing that fantasies..._dreams_...were easier to resurrect than he had previously thought.

_x-x_

**A/N:** So...what did you guys think? I could really use some feedback for this one...were you too confused about the placing of the story? Does it matter to you why they're there or what's happened? Was it too sad? You know...the usual stuff! XD


	23. 23: I'll Never Forget You

**A/N:** So...yeah. I'm sick right now, and can't really think of anything useful or even pretty to say here. I wrote this last month and needed some insight into the ending, specifically, so I posted it onto tumblr and got some of the people on there to give me their views on it. They convinced me it was post-worthy, so here it is.

(Did I mention I've got a tumblr account? If I didn't mention it...well, I do. Emaniahilel. Come on over and say "howdy-do"...or, you know, just "hi"...doesn't have to be fancy.)

**Thanks:** Of course, to the people on tumblr who commented and encouraged me. Also, to the people who consistently fave my stuff on here and keep up hopes that I'll keep posting and commenting and leaving reviews. You guys are really what keep me writing (or, like, wanting to write, anyway) when RL has sucked all the creativity out of me.

_**Slow Like Honey  
(23: I'll Never Forget You)  
by Em**_

"_You'll remember me like a melody / yeah, I'll haunt the world inside you..."  
_- Slow Like Honey, Fiona Apple

-i-

Eventually, it had been time for her to go.

He recognized it, the way he recognized every single shift of emotion or pause of consideration in her moods and her aspect.

He knew her; and he knew when she had to leave.

He didn't know why, precisely, but he had always known that it wouldn't be permanent having her at his side, as part of his team, under his roof.

He knew it weeks before the others.

And one day, they had been alone in the common room, lit only by the flickering glow of the tv he had been watching, volume almost on mute because she had been reading next to him; and she had stood up and turned to go, with a low murmured good night.

He had known she wouldn't be leaving that night; known it would be some time yet, but he found himself reaching out and taking her arm in his hand.

She stopped, turned to look at his hand on her arm even as his fingers slid down her arm and wrapped around her wrist. She was so tiny, the bones seeming fragile, not unlike her namesake, even if he knew otherwise.

He looked at her face only to find that her gaze had traveled from where his skin touched hers to scrutinize his expression.

As usual, They didn't need to speak. After a few moments of shared inspection, she read his intent, and shook her head.

They didn't need to speak, but she must've deemed the meaning too important to leave unsaid.

"We can't do this."

And her voice was soft and almost beseeching; or maybe that's just how he'll remember it.

He let his eyes caress her face, his fingers still around her carefully limp wrist shifting, almost caressing the sensitive skin at her pulse.

"Why?" He asked simply.

She looked at him until his eyes found hers again, and in the shifting shadows he almost saw something flicker in her eyes, like a wave of color wash out the lavender ebbing a deep warm maroon, like heartsblood, but she blinked and it was gone.

"For the same reason we couldn't yesterday, or last week, last year..." She pulled her hand out of his unresisting grip. "Nothing's changed."

She turned to leave, but he stood in her way.

"_Everything's_ changed," he told her, inches away from touching her.

For a moment, she just looked at him, her expression open. Then, she regained control of herself, and she was stoic and unreadable again. She met his eyes and opened her mouth, but he didn't let her speak.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question, but it wasn't precisely a declaration, either. It was somewhere in between. He saw her aim to deny it, and he raised a brow at her. "Not tonight, I know that," he assured her. "And maybe not for another week or two, but soon," he dared her with his open expression to refute it.

She meant to explain, or apologize, or defend herself, but he wouldn't have that either.

"I understand," he said, nodding. "I really do," he assured her, voice soft suddenly. He swallowed and shook his head. "But it doesn't matter," he added. "Point is, that you're leaving, and everything's changed."

She exhaled. "Not really," she amended. "Not the basic facts neither of us can change."

He echoed her exhale. "I suppose you're right, there," he allowed.

He met her eyes then and she felt something in her gut sink because she recognized that look.

"Neither of us can change the fact that I-"

"-Robin-" she interrupted warningly, and with an undercurrent of desperation.

"-that I love you," he finished ruthlessly.

He watched her lower her head as if in slow motion, the soft strands of her hair rushing forward to hide her face from him. He reached a hand, fingers moments from touching her hair to pull it back like a curtain, when she spoke.

"Stop."

The quiet of it ripped through his heart and nearly tore it in two.

He had never thought (when he allowed himself to think of it at all) that it would be easy, but hearing her ask him to stop telling her how he felt pierced him just the same. His hand stilled, his fingers twitched, before he reluctantly pulled it back. "I won't take it back," he said, just as quietly, his hand that still ached to touch her fisting at his side in order to resist. He thought she flinched, but he couldn't be sure. "I won't let you go without..." he trailed off, unsure of how far he needed to take this or what he actually expected to come from this conversation. "I can't live without you, knowing that I did nothing..." Again, words failed him.

Still, she refused to look at him.

"Raven, look at me," he called softly.

She didn't.

"Tell me you don't love me," he invited. He watched her swallow before she turned entirely away from him. "Tell me," he urged. "And make me believe it," he added meaningfully. "And this will end right here." He took a step toward her and he could feel her warmth. Before he knew it, he had reached out and cupped her chin, slowly turning her when he found no real resistance on her part. When their eyes met, he saw the emotion swirling in hers and it almost took his breath away. "Do you love me?" he asked, his voice rough and tight.

"Robin," she started, and tried to look away, but he stopped her with a firmer grip, taking hold of her shoulder with his other hand and bringing her all the way around to stand toe to toe with him.

"Yes or no, Raven," he insisted.

She stared at him, but didn't speak, and his hand was traveling from her chin to her cheek, his other hand tracing the curve of her back as his eyes sought hers.

"I'll make it easy," he prodded after a moment, his gaze devouring her expression even as his thumb traced circles on her smooth cheek and his left hand found her waist. "Just..." he shuffled a little closer to her, "...tell me..."

He felt the shift of her center as he pulled her a little closer and she acquiesced, their eyes still locked.

He leaned forward, felt her breathing quicken and his heart started to race, "...to stop."

He gave her precisely four seconds before his lips touched hers, and when she didn't immediately pull away, all thought except the taste of her fled and his right hand migrated to the back of her head while his left pulled her against him all without a conscious command from his brain.

-ii-

Later, when he allowed himself to think of her, he would remember her like a melody, and nearly every moment of that night with the clarity and recall of a movie playing against his memories - a movie that he could pause and rewind or fast forward - but never quite in sequence and never at his conscious command...

He would close his eyes and see the contrast of his skin against hers as his fingers glided softly over the curve of her hip, tracing the line along her torso, skimming the profile of her breasts, rounding her shoulder and cupping her shoulder blades, pulling her close...

Or the cold of metal against his bare back when she turned them and pressed him against her door, lips never parting, hands lingering on his chest rather than searching out her door's keypad...

The soft weight of her on the mattress next to him...

The warmth of her breath on his shoulder as she slept...

The throaty way she said his name...

The coolness of her fingers as she discovered his ribs, arms, waist...

The way she moved against him, slow and intense, like honey…

How she yielded to him like a scent in the breeze…

The gentleness of her kiss...

The way he fit inside her like coming home...

-iii-

Afterward, he would ask her, "You're still leaving, aren't you?"

She didn't look away from her inspection of the roof above their heads, her hand prone in his. "Yes," she said quietly, after a while.

After several moments, when neither spoke and neither moved, she shifted and sat up, sliding away from him, but he caught her hand in his before she could stand, sitting up himself to follow her if he had to. "Right now?"

She looked at him over her shoulder, but he couldn't read (didn't want to read) the meaning of the furrowed brow and shining eyes. "Robin," she sighed wearily.

He brought his other hand to her cheek and gently brought her back toward him, pressing a kiss to her lips. When he felt her surrender, he led her until she was lying on the mattress, their lips experts now at coaxing each other, his hands holding her delicate wrists against the mattress at her side as he fit himself against her. After a few moments, he broke the kiss and searched her eyes. "Not yet."

She swallowed hard, but surrendered.

-iv-

Weeks later, when she finally did leave, and months after that when he'd conceded to her invasion of his dreams, and yielded to the way her (scent, taste, voice) haunted the world inside him, he would remember her words as the sun crept into her bedroom after their first night together with the force of a prophecy in hindsight.

"You've damned us, you realize," she had whispered, near his ear as he tasted the skin between her neck and shoulder blade.

He hadn't answered her.

**A/N:** So? What'd you guys think about the ending? Or, any part of it, really.


End file.
